


The World Ahead

by Charlie_chan16, Lynxrider



Series: Many Paths [2]
Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, FUCK CANON!, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-War of the Ring, Slow Burn, middle earth politics, or as we like to say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_chan16/pseuds/Charlie_chan16, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynxrider/pseuds/Lynxrider
Summary: "Through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight."They’d been flying for a few hours now, leaving Alagaësia far behind them and replacing it with the sea of white clouds that now hung below. The wind was cold against Eragon’s face, turning his nose bright pink as they made no attempt to stop.He could feel the pit of despair and sadness in his stomach, yawning wide and threatening to swallow him whole. But, he felt numb to it, as if he had accepted it and was now sitting next to it with morbid curiosity. The ache of exhaustion echoed deep in his bones, his muscles twinging from remembered hurts, but he didn’t bother to try and heal them. They were long gone, like the scar that had been on his back.He sighed, mulling over what had happened to lead him to this point. The death of Galbatorix and the safety that came with it, and the fact that Angela’s dragon bones had been right. He’d had to leave his home and everyone behind, setting off by himself with only Saphira for company, for neither of them could be separated from the other.ORThe Eragon/LOTR crossover that no one seemed to need, but two people very much wanted.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf/Eragon Shadeslayer, Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee, Saphira & Eragon Shadeslayer (Inheritance Cycle)
Series: Many Paths [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773694
Comments: 22
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read to perfection! 
> 
> Key; Brisingr - dialogue btw. Saphira and Eragon  
> ‘Brisingr’ - thought  
> “Brisingr” - talking in a different language/ Ancient Language

The rise and fall of Saphira’s wings soothed Eragon. Lying horizontally on her saddle with his legs strapped in, he could feel her muscles pulling taut, her tendons flexing and the slight exertion in her body. With his eyes closed, it was easy to focus only on physical sensations rather than sight.

They flew above the clouds together, as it would’ve been easy to spot a large bright blue dragon against the sky and Eragon didn’t wish any needless pain on his partner. He’d laid in silence for some time now, staring up into the blue expanse above him as he considered things. From time to time, he’d brush over the bond he held with Saphira, smiling at the feeling of warmth that soothed him as he did. He knew she’d always be there by his side, to keep him safe and ready to protect him. And he’d do the same for her, that’s just how they worked together.

They’d been flying for a few hours now, leaving  Alagaësia far behind them and replacing it with the sea of white clouds that now hung below. The wind was cold against Eragon’s face, turning his nose bright pink as they made no attempt to stop. 

He could feel the pit of despair and sadness in his stomach, yawning wide and threatening to swallow him whole. But, he felt numb to it, as if he had accepted it and was now sitting next to it with morbid curiosity. The ache of exhaustion echoed deep in his bones, his muscles twinging from remembered hurts, but he didn’t bother to try and heal them. They were long gone, like the scar that had been on his back. 

His mind was suddenly cast back home, to the proud peaks of the Spine, the forest that had surrounded Garrow’s farm, to Horst’s forge in town, and his small bedroom with its shelf of trinkets. They were all gone now, burnt down by Galbatorix’s men months ago and his eyes pricked with tears at the image of Brom’s crystalline grave. He never did get to say a proper goodbye. And yet, Eragon didn’t feel any remorse or sadness for the Varden, or the lush forest of Ellesmera. Although, it brought back the ever present ache of Oromis’ death to the forefront of his mind, which he tried in vain to shove back behind his mental shields. 

The Ancient Language came easy to him, and the incantation wrapped itself around his body, blocking out the worst of the cold wind that surrounded him. Saphira had no need for it as her body ran hotter than his, but she snorted at the prickle of his magic. 

_ Little one,  _ she said,  _ the fact that we’ve been flying for merely a few hours and you need to warm up surprises me. Are you sure you’ve packed warm enough clothes?  _

_ Don’t tease, Saphira. You know I tend to get cold quickly,  _ Eragon said to her, voice heavy with exhaustion and sadness, and certainly not in the mood. 

_ Oh, don’t I know it. The amount of times you leeched body warmth from me when we were travelling with Brom are enough that I’d need more than my four paws,  _ she said, laughter evident in her tone, and the residue joy that suffused through their bond warmed Eragon from the inside out and he laughed, albeit quietly. 

He sighed, mulling over what had happened to lead him to this point. The death of Galbatorix and the safety that came with it, and the fact that Angela’s dragon bones had been right. He’d had to leave his home and everyone behind, setting off by himself with only Saphira for company, for neither of them could be separated from the other. 

They’d heard tales from Arya of what happened to the Forsworn when their dragons had been stripped of their true names. And the stark evidence of the madness Galbatorix turned to when his own dragon was killed terrified the two of them. Dragons and Riders were meant to be together, and one couldn’t hope to survive without the other. Glaedr had been inconsolable after Oromis’ death, and both Saphira and Eragon shivered at the thought of that happening to them. 

He’d been told by Arya that it was to find new riders, or dragons. Or anything that was hidden in the unknown lands. It was all speculation however, because he didn’t know where to start, and when he asked, neither did anyone else. He knew he had to leave though, the land didn’t need him anymore, he was a stark reminder of times long behind them, and what was a Rider and his dragon with no purpose? It was times like these he missed Oromis fiercely, almost as much as he missed Brom.

He wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his finger, sniffling and brushing Saphira off when she asked of his well being. This was old pain, grief that he’d dealt with and set aside but was wont to make a reappearance now and again. It was much like the grief he felt for Oromis, and Glaedr. They’d been mentors for both him and Saphira, and his companion shared in his grief for them, for their needless death at the hands of a corrupt Emperor and his lackeys. 

There were no maps chartered for where the two of them were going, and no one knew what dangers lay ahead of the pair. Yet, he had placed Saphira’s saddle on her back, sheathed Brisingr and placed Aren once again on his finger without complaint. They’d taken off with little fanfare, and Eragon had barely glanced at Arya as they left, leaving her with a passive aggressive farewell. 

It had been too hard to bear. What had happened between them had been painful, and he dreaded he wouldn't be able to love another like he did her. The heartache was powerful, and almost drove a hole within his very being. The grief sat hard on his chest, and his eyes stung with tears which he wiped with the back of a finger. But, he knew it was for the best, he had to accept it. She was years older than he, and wiser than most, and she harboured no feelings for him. It wouldn’t have worked at all. 

She saw him as a dear friend, but a child. More than nothing, but not nearly enough to match Eragon’s regard. He was almost glad that he and Saphira had left. 

_ Eragon _ , Saphira said quietly, feeling the overwhelming sadness he felt in their bond and he laid a hand flat against her scales, taking comfort from the heat that emanated from her body.  _ You must accept what has happened. You cannot change how a person feels.  _

_ I know that, _ he told her,  _ but that doesn’t mean I can’t take time to grieve. I’ve held it in for too long, I think. _

_ I agree, but we must be able to set aside what we feel to make way for duty, little one,  _ she told him.  _ We have a mission to uphold, do we not? Would Nausuada abandon her people for her feelings? Would Roran-- no, would Orik?  _

Eragon laughed at her amendment, thinking of the fierce love his cousin had for his wife. How he had demanded Eragon aid him in her rescue from Helgrind the minute the two of them were reunited, even with the two of them battered and bloody and recovering from a fierce battle.  _ While that is true, don’t you think we deserve time to think upon what has happened these past few years? I know I do,  _ he said. 

Saphira didn’t answer him, but a plume of dark smoke was snorted from her nostrils, and the two of them fell silent once again.

The clouds before them suddenly took on a dark grey colour, and the odour of smoke filled the air. Eragon pulled himself upright, tying down his legs a bit tighter to get a better look. 

_ What is it, Saphira?  _ he asked, trying to see for himself but the smoke was too thick to make out anything tangible from the sea of clouds. The scent of sulphur was powerful, and Eragon coughed at the odour. 

_ I’m not sure, little one,  _ she replied.  _ Perhaps we should take a look?  _

_ Alright, but stay as close to cloud cover as you can, I don’t want us to be spotted by anyone with ill intent towards a dragon and their rider.  _ He leaned down slightly as Saphira let them drop beneath the clouds, folding her wings tight to her body and angling her snout to the ground. 

The smell of sulphur and smoke was stronger now that they were under its cover, invading Eragon’s nostrils and he covered his nose with his sleeve in a vain attempt to block it out. He coughed, and squinted to try and see through the roaring wind rushing past his ears. 

They finally broke through the clouds and Saphira extended her wings once again, the compression creating a loud  _ thump _ as the membranes caught the updrift. She glided for a few seconds until they came across signs of civilisation and the source of the dark smoke. 

A brilliant white city stood out across the plains spread below them. It seemed to be built around a jutted peak - almost like the bow of a great ship - but was composed of multiple levels. It shone brightly in the afternoon sun that broke through the acrid smoke in reflective rays, and Eragon had to glance away after a few seconds until his eyes adjusted. A light shimmer ensconced the entire structure. It almost acted like a barrier to the great pillar of darkness that lay to the left of the city.

From where they flew, he could make out fires dotted around the city and many spread over its outskirts. A mass of black figures surged against the walls around the base of the city, and Eragon could just make out tall, menacing siege weapons and massive creatures lumbering along behind them. 

It reminded him acutely of the Battle of the Burning Plains. The smell of the smoke from the fires was like the bushes burning on that day. He could spy two armies battling down below, one wearing armour and capes that blended into the green of the grass, the other the pure black mass he’d seen before. 

The scent of death and sweat was pungent, almost enough to cover the smell of the fires, and the clang of metal on metal and the screams of dying men pierced Eragon’s ears and rattled his skull. 

With no spoken prompt, Saphira melded her mind with Eragon’s and with her improved eyesight, he was able to see clearly what was going on. Although the two of them had used this technique a few times, it was still disorientating to Eragon, but for now he shook the feeling off. 

He could see the army of green, who were protecting the city valiantly, and he realised it was an army of men going up against thousands of creatures. They reminded Eragon of Urgals, but on closer inspection, they didn’t have horns or regular armour. In fact, they seemed to be more repugnant than the Urgals, and he flinched at the sound of bones snapping and flesh being torn apart as they made their way through the army of men. 

The city was holding its own, as he could see from the mass of people protecting the gates through Saphira’s eyes. But the walls on the bottom tier were crumbling from the onslaught of the siege weapons and catapults, and Eragon could hear the screams from the men, women and children inside. 

A tree standing at the peak of the city caught his eye. It stood unhindered by the destruction around it, and its pure white bark was dazzling to the eye. Eragon had to wrench his gaze from it. 

His hands shook where he gripped the edge of Saphira’s battle. Whether it was from grief at the many lives lost of memories skirting along the edge of his mind he wasn’t sure. But he was finding it hard to breath as the smoke itched and burned his lungs, the sound of his blood loud in his ears. 

Not again. He couldn't  _ do this  _ again. He just left a war torn country, he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of getting tangled up in the politics of another. He felt extremely tempted to turn Saphira around and go back the way they came, and his knuckles turned white with the harsh grip he had on the saddle. 

_ Eragon,  _ Saphira shouted to him, urgency in her tone,  _ calm down.  _ She washed their bond with calm soothing feelings, batting away the fear as if it were a fly buzzing around her head. Eragon suddenly became aware of his rapid breathing, although the spell to connect the two of them was still active, and he found it disorientating. He tried to deepen his breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly as Saphira glided gracefully over the atrocities below them. 

_ Saphira, stay out of sight, we don’t want one of those trained on us, _ Eragon told her and she angled her wings slightly to take them higher. It gave Eragon a better view of what stretched past the white city, and it was here he found the main source for the smoke. His breathing hitched at the sense of pure evil; cold, dark and menacing, as if a shadow was hovering over his shoulder, and Saphira came to a slow glide as she took it in as well, feelings echoing Eragon’s through their bond. 

The darkness inching its way towards the city seemed to stretch from the menacing range of mountains to the east, rising from the rest of the plains around it. A layer of smog covered the top of what seemed to be a city, but Eragon couldn’t quite make it out the smoke was too thick. A large volcano stretched towards the heavens, and it burnt with a simmering rage that seemed to rival a wild dragon’s, blasting malicious fumes into the dark sky.

A set of great black gates looked to be the only way in and out of the city, and Eragon watched through Saphira’s eyes as they were tugged open by great hulking creatures to allow another swarm of soldiers and tall menacing beasts to exit. At a second look, they did seem to be men, dressed in strange oriental armour, with sharp tipped helmets. They followed along behind the lumbering beats at a quick march, determination almost palpable as they joined the fray. 

Saphira’s gaze was drawn to its centre, where a great tower stood above everything. It seemed to absorb all light around it, and Eragon could sense a presence dragging her attention towards it through their bond. 

Dread gripped Eragon in a tight fist as Saphira’s gaze was filled with the vision of a great flaming eye. It turned towards them, and the black pupil felt like a dark, yawning pit as it searched the ground for something, the stream of light swinging across the plains. But it didn’t look as if it had seen them yet. 

However, as soon as Eragon thought that, it swung around to land on him and Saphira. Eragon was transfixed by its red gaze, and suddenly noticed his enchanted necklace given to him by Gannel beginning to siphon off some of his energy. Someone was trying to scry him. 

It didn’t feel like anything he had sensed before. This presence wasn’t just prodding at his mental defenses, it was trying to tear them down. His forehead beaded with sweat as he gave a short shout of pain, hands clenching the side of his head. 

Ear piercing shrieks rent the air, making the pain more intense as Eragon folded forward in the saddle. He couldn’t feel Saphira trying to evade great flying beasts as she broke the connection between them quickly, using the aerial techniques Glaedr taught her as she tried to protect her rider. 

The presence was heavy, and malignant, and Eragon had to physically shout for Saphira to get them out of there as all his mental strength was focused on trying to uphold his shields. The presence almost seemed to be trying to take full control of him, and in association Saphira, and Eragon could barely feel the pulses of Saphira’s wings as they flew away.

The weight seemed to ebb the further they got, and Eragon slumped in his seat when the danger had faded. When he glanced back, he could no longer see the outline of the two cities and all that was left was a thin dark line of smoke. 

He breathed a deep sigh of relief and he clutched onto one of Saphira’s spines, leaning his head down to catch his breath. His back felt sweaty and his clothes stuck to his skin, and the two of them fell quite until the rolling plains below became mountains.

_ What was that?  _ he asked, glad to be able to let down his mental shields slightly. 

_ I do not know,  _ came the reply,  _ but I know we don’t want to face whatever it was. It didn’t feel natural, Eragon. It was like we were facing Galbatorix again. _

Eragon could feel how skittish she had become, and he realised that she was shaken up from what had happened. He patted her flank, filling their bond with love and gratefulness at her quick thinking to get them out of there. 

_ I think we should stay away from whatever that was. It’s not our business to get involved,  _ he told her, and she rumbled in agreement. 

A sudden surge of guilt overwhelmed him, and he once again glanced back to where the strip of dark smoke was getting smaller and smaller the further they flew. He felt torn, as if he was being pulled in two directions by his head and his heart. 

He felt the need to help, there had been people down there, hundreds of thousands of soldiers and innocents dying at the hands of vile creatures and Eragon had done nothing to aid them. He could’ve easily sent a stream of magic to cut down at least a bit of the black army, or even sent a wave of healing magic over the white city to mend those who were broken by the conflict. 

But his head raged with a perfectly good argument. He didn’t want to risk Saphira, and vice versa. The two of them had been through so much, and the experiences from the war against Galbatorix was still very fresh and at the forefront of their minds almost every day. It was foolish to risk their lives for people and creatures they never knew, and to get tangled up in a situation that wasn’t theirs to fix. Still, that didn’t get rid of the heavy guilt he felt at all the needless death that would occur.

_ Are you alright, little one?  _ Saphira asked, shivering at the remembrance of the evil presence filling their bond before she’d cut off the connection between then. She felt alarmed that whatever it had been, it was strong enough to battle Eragon’s tightly knit mental shields, and not something to be trifled with. 

Eragon drew a deep breath, finally sitting up.  _ I’m alright, a bit tired. I would like to sleep soon,  _ he told her, rubbing his forehead as a slight migraine made itself known. He too was incredibly shaken by what happened, and he didn’t wish to recall the feeling of dread and evil that had taken hold of him tightly like an iron fist. 

_ We must find a place to land as well, I am getting hungry,  _ she said, and Eragon laughed at the sudden juxtaposition of mood _.  _

_ Agreed, but let's try to put some distance between us and whatever that thing was,  _ Eragon told her, and she reluctantly huffed, wings getting tired from all the flying but she didn’t complain.

He realised that they’d been flying for a long time now, the country below them far different from what they’d first experienced. He couldn’t tell for how long, or how many leagues they had travelled as they had left from Du Weldenvarden, but he could tell Saphira was becoming exhausted. Her mighty wings were gliding for longer bouts of time, using less energy and the wind to carry them further. 

After a time, Eragon spied a dark forest ahead of them, thick with trees except for a small opening to the left of them and said,  _ set down in that clearing over there and we can rest for a bit.  _

She landed gracefully,  claws thudding into the earth as Eragon dismounted. It felt good to stretch his legs, and he untied his bag from Saphira’s saddle. He considered the leather contraption for a few seconds, thinking. 

Saphira watched as he wearily wandered around to her right flank, fiddling with the strap that held his pack against his back. His improved senses picked up the signs of insects, but something evil seemed to cover this part of the land as well. It was as if the forest was sick and when he stretched out with his mind as Oromis had taught him, he was only able to catch onto the presence of a few animals, as if all of them had vacated the area hurriedly. He shivered, again, suddenly very grateful for the traits given to him by the dragons as he checked their surroundings. 

_ I won’t be able to take it off until we know we’re away from danger, if that’s alright?  _ he told her, moving to loosen the straps a bit with slightly clumsy fingers, gritting his teeth at how they still shook with fear. A trepidation he couldn’t shake off no matter how many times he flexed them. 

_ That is fine, little one. I would’ve thought it foolish to remove it just yet anyway,  _ she replied, watching as Eragon set down his bag on the ground.  _ I will need to hunt.  _

_ Stay where we can keep in contact. I don’t like the feel of this forest,  _ he told her, glancing behind him at the dark tall trees, roots upheaved from the ground by some unknown force, that surrounded them. He felt as if they were watching them, staring as he turned back to her, a shiver running up his spine. 

She inclined her head and took off, Eragon bracing his knees as her wings caused a mighty updraft within the clearing. 

Although it seemed to be midday, barely any sunlight made it past the trees that hung their branches above him. Dead leaves lay on the floor, rotting and turning the ground black. There was no wind, and the only sound that filled the silence around them was the crack and click of the trees around him. 

Eragon didn’t like it. Something felt extremely off about the forest, like as if it was sick, rotting from the inside out, turning the plants that should be green with life grey and wilted. A sudden rustling to the right caused him to whip around, gazing through the thick trunks of the trees to get a better look. Tension slowly inched its way up his spine, and he carefully and slowly eased his hand down to lean against the pommel of Brisingr. He couldn’t see anything but shadow .

Eragon’s connection to Saphira grew taunt the further she flew away. He couldn’t hear her thoughts now, only feelings and unclear pictures as he settled on a log. He never liked it when he and Saphira were apart.

To distract himself from the slight paranoia that filled his mind, he drew Brisingr from its sheath, turning it in his hand before taking out a whetstone from his bag. He ran his thumb over the glyph etched in the blade before he began, taking heart in the slight warmth it emitted into his skin.

The sudden snap of a twig behind him drew his attention, and his hands halted in their work. He didn’t move a muscle, hardly breathing as he sent feelings of danger and urgency towards Saphira, who was making her way back towards him. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t want to find out. It was too dangerous with what little knowledge they had about this place. 

He slowly stretched his mind outwards, wary of prodding anything too hard for fear of attack. The plants around him were dead, and he brushed over them quickly. The few birds above the treetops he ignored until he finally came upon a presence that felt bigger than any normal critter than ran about the foliage. It was a few metres behind him, and he could sense the tension within its mind. 

It was a person. Whether they were friend or foe Eragon didn’t want to find out. And he wouldn’t have to because he could just see Saphira’s shadow flitting over the ground. 

She was just above him now, and he gently eased himself up from where he sat, muscles drawn tight as he gripped the pommel of Brisingr. He didn’t move from where he stood, his mind still cast out to catch the conscience of the being behind him, knowing the second it began to move towards him. 

_Eragon!_ Saphira suddenly cried in alarm, swooping low over the trees and causing a large updraft. With a mighty roar, she landed with a mighty roar baring her teeth to the forest and sending small animals running in terror. 

_ Jump on!  _ she called to him, and he effortlessly sprinted to her, scrambling over her forelegs to seat himself in the saddle. 

The sudden twang of bowstrings was heard from behind them and Eragon urged Saphira to take off quickly. She wasn’t wearing her armour because they had left it in Alagaesia, so neither of them wanted to risk an injury by something as easily avoided as an arrow. 

With a mighty leap, she took to the air, heaving her wings to gain altitude as shouts came from below. The arrows that managed to reach them were halted by Eragon’s wards, stopping dead in their tracks ten feet away from him and Saphira before dropping to the ground once again. 

He gripped Brisingr tightly, ready if they decided to use magic but there was no more activity. He didn’t allow himself to relax. Saphira angled herself to fly higher, and Eragon once again slumped in his saddle when the forest was far behind them and disappeared into the horizon. 

_ Alright, never mind. I guess a forest is a bad idea,  _ he said, breathing harshly as his heart rate eased from its elevated state.  _ Let’s try somewhere more secluded. Did you get to hunt?  _

_ Indeed,  _ came the reply, and Eragon relaxed minutely in the saddle. 

_ Good,  _ he said.

_ We should try to find a cave within the mountains. We’d have cover there, and a suitable hunting ground that wouldn’t draw too much attention,  _ Saphira suggested and Eragon slipped his legs into the straps of the saddle. 

_ Alright, let’s go,  _ he told her. 

*  * *

It was a few days later that found the two of them holed up in a mountain cave. It was just big enough to fit both Eragon and Saphira, and gave the entrance cover from the massive boulders outside that if someone were to look in their direction, they wouldn’t be seen. It also meant that Saphira could stretch her wings if she needed as it was tall enough to fit her wing span. 

The two of them didn’t dare go out together in the day for fear of being discovered. Instead, they flew under the cover of night, the stars as their only companions in this strange new world. 

They didn’t see any more of those men and monsters who fought on the battlefield, and every time his enchanted necklace began to siphon off his energy, Eragon would be up and ready with Brisingr in hand. He’d spent most of the time terrified of attack, going so far as to sleep with his sword beside him and barely allowing himself to slip into the waking dreams that filled his nights. He hadn’t been this tense since...well since he Saphira and Brom ran from Carvahall in search of the Ra’zac. 

That brought up memories Eragon didn’t really want to recall, but they came like flitting birds, staying with him for a few seconds before disappearing again, leaving him breathless and miserable. Now that the two of them had time to stop, he realised how much he missed home. They had no need for a Rider and his dragon anymore. Galbatorix was defeated, all evil gone from  Alagaësia, so he had had to leave. It was his choice, but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache with loneliness and homesickness. 

Saphira nudged him gently with her snout, and he smiled gratefully at her, scratching under one of her large neck scales as a puff of smoke filled the cave, tickling Eragon’s throat. 

The necklace suddenly began to vibrate, and Eragon felt a drop in his energy levels, but he could do nothing as someone suddenly tapped on his mental shields hard. He leapt up with a short yelp, Brisingr in his hands and Saphira growling at nothing, spines rippling on her back as she looked for the danger.

_ “Be still, stranger, no harm will come to you,”  _ a voice suddenly said, the language indiscernible to Eragon. Although it sounded kindly, he didn’t ease from his stance, Brisingr rolling in the palm of his hand as he prepared for a fight. 

“Who are you? Where are you?” he called, hoping to get an answer he’d understand. 

_ “Ah, you do not understand me. I see, this is going to be more difficult than I first thought,”  _ the voice said again, and Saphira growled, baring her fangs. 

_ Saphira, can you understand them?  _ Eragon asked, brown eyes darting around their hiding place for any sign of who was speaking. He felt incredibly stupid for letting his guard down so low that it let someone in. Brom taught him better, and shame coloured the bond with Saphira. 

_ I can’t, but little one, we should act with caution. We don’t want to anger anyone who would bring us ill will,  _ she told him, ruffling her wings in distress. She hated fighting an enemy she couldn’t see, and wished for whomever it was to show themselves. 

“Show yourself! I have dealt with many sorcerers and wizards and I know when someone is using magic. Only cowards hide in the shadows,” Eragon suddenly called out, using his magic to ignite Brisingr, and the presence against his shields suddenly recoiled in surprise. 

“You speak the Ancient’s tongue,” came the voice after a few seconds of silence, and Eragon tightened his grip on Brisingr. “Fascinating. No one knows that language except for myself and the Istari.” 

They were definitely female, and yet the voice seemed powerful, wise and old. As if she had been alive since the beginning of time and found Eragon’s existence incredibly interesting. 

“You have an old soul,” she murmured, and Saphira suddenly growled, coming up to Eragon’s side and lashing her tail from side to side. “And you, dragon, are not steeped in darkness. It seems the bond between you and this...Elfling keeps you in the light.” Both Eragon and Saphira shivered, reinforcing the barriers around their bond tightly, keeping it shielded and shutting the woman out. 

“Apologies, I meant no harm,” she said, and Eragon could feel the presence against his shields alleviating slightly. 

_ Eragon, she speaks in the Ancient Language. We know she’s not lying,  _ Saphira realised, but Eragon didn’t let up the grip on Brisingr, fear and tension still gripping his muscles like an iron fist. 

“Your dragon is correct, Elfling. I mean you no harm. But I see that others might if you were to remain here,” she said, and Eragon’s eyes widened, his stance sinking lower as Saphira’s growls echoed within the cave. 

"What do you want?” he asked finally, quietly, prepared to jump on Saphira’s back if there was any threat of a fight. There was silence for a few seconds, but Eragon didn’t dare hope that the presence had gone. He stayed where he was, brown eyes darting warily around the cave. 

Suddenly, she spoke again. “Come to Lothlorien. It is to the east of your position. Ask for Galadriel when you arrive and you will be allowed entrance,” she said, and then she was gone. 

The two of them remained alert for a few minutes before Eragon allowed his stance to drop. 

_ Should we believe her?  _ he asked Saphira, rolling the thought over and over in his head.  _ Someone as strong as that could’ve killed us easily. And yet, she didn’t.  _

_ I believe we might’ve met someone who could match Galbatorix in power. But, she held no ill intent towards us and no one can lie using the Ancient Language, we know that,  _ she said, ruffling her wings as they eased from their raised position.  _ We must be cautious going into this, but on the other hand, we should be grateful that we are being given some kindness when we are strangers in this world.  _

And so it was decided, and Eragon began to pack up the few things he’d been using over the few days they’d been in the cave. It didn’t take long before they were flying again, staying below the clouds so that they’d have some sort of notion of where they were. 

*  *  *

It was nearing the end of the third age when the dark lord Sauron was defeated. It had been a hard battle spanning many days and claiming many lives. Finally, the army of the elves and men stood victorious, watching as the great, dark tower that loomed over Mordor finally fell, and the ground crumbled around them, taking their enemies to hell, never to haunt the lands of Middle Earth again.

It was cause for much celebration and mourning for the lost, and the Ring bearer and many others were healed in the halls of Minas Tirith. Many believed it was now a time for peace, for the dwarves to let go of their bias against the elves, and the elves do the same. Men finally dropped their walls and gates, allowing trade to once again traverse the land between cities. The few orcs that remained fled for Gundabad, never to get involved with the happenings of Arda again. 

The crowning of the next king of Men and the long awaited joining of two nations in a bond of love was also a cause for celebration, and at the end of it all, four hobbits travelled on ponies back to the Shire, ready to lead lives of calming domesticity. 

But, what no one noticed, was on the day that Sauron fell, nine dark silhouettes flew away from the destruction the Dark Lord had sown for himself, free from his control. Free to do as they wished. 


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eragon arrives in Lothlorien and we encounter a few familiar faces

The first glimpse Eragon and Saphira got of the fair elven city it looked like an endless span of white. The forest itself was entirely composed of birch and sycamore trees, shining like a beacon in the dark night. Once again, the two of them flew with the stars as their only guides, the black that cloaked the land hiding Saphira’s outline from sight. 

Unlike the forest the two of them encountered first, this one seemed to pull at Eragon’s magic and he felt it within his core. It felt...familiar almost, and reminded him of Ellesmera. Another wave of homesickness bombarded him and with difficulty he shoved it down as far as he could manage, locking the box and throwing away the key. 

A troop of elves caught Eragon’s keen eyes and he and Saphira watched as they lined up on either side of a small pathway that led into the forest. Their armour was simple with bows strapped to their backs and swords at their waists. They didn’t move to attack and he realised that they were waiting for the Rider and his dragon to land. 

_ Saphira,  _ Eragon said, strapping his legs down firmly in the saddle in preparation for the sudden drop,  _ stay alert?  _

_ Always,  _ she answered, and a rush of absolute trust and love filled their bond. It set off something warm in Eragon’s stomach, making him sit up straighter in confidence as Saphira drew in her wings and tilted her body to swiftly descend to the ground. 

The elves didn’t flinch as Saphira’s long claws buried themselves in the mud, nor did they twitch when the wind whipped through the clearing, throwing dust and debris into the air _.  _ Eragon shifted slightly in the saddle but didn’t move to dismount, still distrustful of whomever had summoned them. It seemed the elves didn’t trust him either. Their postures were lined with tension and Saphira tread cautiously to avoid causing alarm.

As they began to make their way into the forest, the elves moved to surround them. Eragon jolted in surprise, hand coming up to grip Brisingr. But none of them made a move to attack, only walking beside them, and he realised they were escorting them. He allowed his hand to drop but kept his eye on them. 

The forest was quiet in the embrace of the trees, serene in the tranquil. Eragon stretched out his mind to sense the thousands of animals and plants that surrounded them and was comforted by the evidence of life, still disconfitted by its absence in the barren forest they’d first encountered.

However, it seemed they too were skittish, doing everything to avoid coming within twenty feet of Saphira. Indeed, even the elves that escorted them kept a civil distance from her. Eragon’s brows furrowed. 

Their escorts noticed it too, their gazes flitting about the trees, intent on spying something. They seemed restless to Eragon and he felt along the presences of them all, feeling the wariness and tension that laced their consciences. The trees and plants too were cautious, almost holding their breaths as he and Saphira passed them.

_ It seems dragons are not as well received as they are in Farthen Dur,  _ Saphira commented. 

_ Or Ellesmera. Any idea why?  _ he asked, keeping a wary eye on their guards as they wandered deeper into the forest. His thumb fingered Brisingr’s hilt, mind already forming one of the twelve death words just in case. He never liked using them, always reminded of the countless men that had dropped dead at his will, but desperate times did call for desperate measures. 

_ I have one,  _ Saphira told him.  _ It was something that the sorceress told us within the cave.  _

_ I wouldn’t necessarily assume her a sorceress until we actually know who she is,  _ Eragon said shortly, watching as the trees fell away to allow a gorgeous structure to stand within the centre, the light emitting from the wood so bright Eragon winced when he glanced at it. It reminded the Rider of Ellesmera, although the species of plants and trees were different. The swooping shapes of the architecture were very similar. Although he was impressed, he wasn’t surprised that such structures would be present in an elven city.

_ Well, one can’t be too careful,  _ Saphira snarked back.  _ She said something about dragons being drawn to the darkness. Perhaps that is why the animals and inhabitants of this forest treat me with such distrust.  _

_Maybe,_ Eragon said. _But didn’t she say that our bond has kept you from evil. She said it kept you from the ‘darkness’. Right?_

_ Yes, if I recall correctly. It is almost like the darkness in this world is a tangible thing, less an abstract concept and more of a being,  _ she observed.  _ Perhaps this sorceress will tell us more.  _

_ I-- you know what, I’m not arguing with you right now, so we shall see who is right or wrong,  _ Eragon told her, sighing in exasperation out loud and startling the elf closest to him. The warrior gave him a sly glance, before their gaze snapped back to the front. 

The trees were lined with stairs that wound around the trunks themselves. Saphira suddenly encompassed their bond with the images of the steps up to their roost in Ellesmera, comparing how these seemed safer to climb. Eragon smiled at the memory, missing the cosy treehouse. 

Their elven guard came to a swift halt at the base of a tree. One turned to face the dragon and his rider and spoke in a language so fast, yet so beautiful Eragon lost track. He stared in confusion as the elf gestured at him with gloved hands, and when he didn’t move from the saddle, the guard repeated his sentence slowly as if Eragon was stupid. 

_ Saphira, what’s he saying?  _ he asked almost desperately, for the elf was getting more aggressive with each reiteration. 

_ I’m not sure little one. But whatever it is, I do not like his tone,  _ she said, her snout wrinkling as her chest rumbled. The elves around them tensed, the rasp of metal belying their drawn weapons. 

An order was barked behind them and the guards halted their movements, drawing to attention as another elf emerged from the shadows. His gaze fell upon the hand Eragon had laid on the hilt of his sword and Saphira’s curled lip. He bowed low, fair hair falling over his shoulder, and murmured something in the strange language again. It seemed he too did not know of the language barrier that stood between them. 

Eragon shook his head hoping that would relay his confusion, but it seemed it did not, the elf’s brow furrowing as they turned to one of the guards. 

_ “He wishes for you to climb the stairs,”  _ came the woman’s voice, soft against Eragon’s mind. Both he and Saphira jolted in surprise, drawing the attention of the elves around them.  _ “Do not be wary, he conveys as little threat as I.”  _

_ “How do I know that when they grip their weapons with such fear?”  _ Eragon snapped back, wary eyes darting over their elven guard, and Saphira growled beneath him, wings ruffling behind her. 

_ “They only intend to lead you to me. Haldir merely greets you as is our custom,”  _ she explained.  _ “If you wish, you may fly up to the platform, although how much alarm that will cause, I do not know.”  _

_Should we trust her?_ Eragon asked, and Saphira huffed in reluctant acceptance, crouching to allow Eragon to dismount. The elves around them relaxed, following the Rider as he made his way to the first set of stairs that led upwards. 

With a large leap, Saphira took to the air, maneuvering herself around the trees until she disappeared from sight. The stairs themselves weren’t as unstable or steep as the ones in Ellesmera, but Eragon was still slightly winded when he reached the top. He could hear Saphira laughing at him from where she stood and Eragon rolled his eyes at her. 

The sounds of footsteps drew Eragon’s attention and he had to wince away from the brightness of the elves clothing. Piercing blue eyes caught Eragon’s dark ones and held his gaze. She smiled kindly at him and twisted her hand against her chest in the formal greeting. 

He raised his eyebrows in surprise before repeating the gesture. The worded greeting was passed between the two, a little haltingly on Eragon’s end as it had been a while since he’d had to utter it to another soul. It set him at ease, though, and he visibly relaxed as she came level with him. The other - who Eragon could only assume was her partner - watched him warily but kept his hands away from his weapons and came to stand before Saphira. 

Saphira bent her neck so that her head was level with Eragon’s, her shining blue eyes regarding the elf with curiosity as the greeting was reiterated to her as well. 

_ “It is safe for you here,”  _ the elf told them, speaking aloud in the Ancient Language.  _ “Our people would bring you no harm for as long as you stay. We have rooms for you suitably large enough to fit, Lady Saphira.” _

Eragon could feel Saphira’s pride and laughed quietly. The elf’s gaze landed on him again and Eragon could feel her power when he stretched his senses out again. Her presence reminded him of Galbatorix, except she was seeped in the light whereas he had been covered in darkness. Her presence drew him in, her power almost intoxicating, but Saphira nudged his shoulder with her snout, bringing him back to himself. 

_ “Forgive me, but it’s a bit difficult to accept shelter from someone who won’t give her name,”  _ Eragon said. 

_ “I must say the same for you,”  _ she replied, thin eyebrows raised in what could be surprise, or anger Eragon wasn’t entirely sure.  _ “Names have power in this land. You would be wise to keep yours and your dragon’s close to your heart.”  _

Eragon scoffed, feeling as if she were treating him like a child telling him something so simple, something that Brom had taught him while they had been fleeing from Carvahall. Names gave people control. He’d encountered that himself with his dealings with Sloan. That felt like a lifetime ago. But they were also a precious gift and some considered it to be more powerful than a Rider’s bond to his dragon. 

The elf suddenly stepped down from the staircase, letting go of her partner’s hand to approach. She moved as if she glided over the ground and Eragon watched her carefully as she stopped two feet from him. From there, he could make out each individual thread in her clothing, each strand of blonde hair. 

_ “I am called Galadriel, Lady of the Galadhrim,”  _ she told him, inclining her head. 

_ “I am Eragon Bromsson, also known as Eragon Shadeslayer. This is my dragon, Saphira Bjartskular,”  _ Eragon replied, watching as Saphira inclined her head. 

_ “Welcome to Lothlorien, Eragon and Saphira,”  _ she replied. 

* * * 

_The heat was stifling, unbearable. It robbed his lungs of the oxygen he needed, leaving him gasping. He could feel sweat track its way down his cheek, slicing through soot and dirt._ _Beneath his fingers, the roughness of stone grounded him. He tried to turn his neck to see, to check on the one beside him._

_ He  _ **_needed_ ** _ to, it was his job to protect and care for him.  _ **_He_ ** _ was the one with the massive burden, the one that shouldn’t have to worry about anything except putting one foot in front of the other.  _

_ Sam must not disappoint him. Get. Up. You’re needed, for once in your life be  _ **_helpful_ ** _ get up he’s going to die-- _

Sam awoke. His eyelids fluttered open, his breathing slow and steady. That had been the third nightmare this week, one of many since his return from his...escapade. He rolled over onto his side, fingers coming up to brush a strand of hair from Rose’s face. 

He could feel his clothes sticking to his back with sweat, his honey curls clinging to his cheeks. He has become so accustomed to the night terrors that plagued him that his heart had grown numb to them, and he’d taken to reflecting on them with a clinical coldness. He shifted under the covers as a trail of sweat made its way down his neck, haunted by memories of fire and ash.

He felt annoyed at himself. He should be _over_ what happened by now. He should’ve moved on like Pippin and Merry had. Instead, he felt stuck in a rut trying to live up to the expectations, to be the leader - the Thain - the people of the Shire wanted him to be. Not jolting away from a nightmare of terrors long past every second day of the week. 

He traced his thumb over his wife’s cheeks, staring at her lovingly. He knew Rose was the One all those years ago, watching her from a table with his friends encouraging him to introduce himself with laughter in their eyes. He’d been a shy hobbit then, only knowing the Shire and the surrounding forest. He’d been the happiest he ever could be when he’d married her, the feeling similar to his flight with the Eagles that delivered him and Frodo from the fires of Mordor. 

He knew their culture didn’t have ‘Ones’, at least not to the degree of the elves, who believe the Valar destined two people to be together long before they were even conceived, or the dwarves who thought they and their One was to be found, even if it was rare nowadays to find them. Because of all the books he’d read, Sam fancied that if hobbit’s  _ did  _ have soulmates, it would be her. Rose would be the other side of his heart.

Yet, there was still a chasm of emptiness in him he couldn’t shake, no matter how much time had passed. 

It had been fifteen years since Frodo left these lands forever and the image of his dearest friend and companion disappearing into the light on a boat leaving for the Undying Lands would be burned into his mind forever. It had been a sad day for the three who were left behind, but they knew it was for the best and both Frodo and Bilbo would be alright. 

When he’d left, Frodo’s departure had left a sharp pain within Sam, as if he’d lost a piece of himself. Now that he’d had time to mourn it was but a distant ache, the loss of a brother. Throughout the years Sam took comfort from the thought that Frodo was in a better place, one where he could forget the massive burden he’d carried all those months. 

Sam sat up in bed, feeling too stifled under the covers. He put on his slippers and began to make his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea, making sure to close the door quietly behind him.

The smial had been something Frodo had gifted the small Gamgee family months after he’d left. None had known what he’d put in the will, one of the Took cousins keeping it safe during the months spent going over it to ensure nothing was amiss. When it was read aloud that the Baggins smial went not to Frodo’s family, but to a _friend,_ it caused a minor uproar. After all, the Sackville-Bagginses had been vying for it for years, finally believing that they’d gotten their hands on Bilbo’s fortune at last only to have it snatched from their greedy fingers once again. Pippin and Merry had giggled like children when they watched Lobelia Sackville-Baggins walk off in a huff, her cane snapping against the stone ground, ornery as any dragon denied her hoard. 

He entered the study reverently, gazing at the light brown walls, the bookshelves heaving with tomes, the redwood desk pressed beside the window. As a hobbitling he’d always thought this room the grandest within the whole smial, cosy and impressive all at once. Sam traced his fingertips over the red leather cover of the large notebook that held the hearts and trials of two of the most extraordinary hobbits this land had ever seen. 

The study had been left untouched, both Sam and Rose agreeing it would be a memorial of the people who lived there before them. Sam would sometimes see a phantom of Frodo sitting at the desk, back bent over his writing, his fingers smudged with black ink. As if he’d never truly gone.

The tales of ‘There and Back Again’ and ‘The Lord of the Rings’ had been Sam’s daughters’, Elanor and Donna’s, favourites when they had been hobbitlings. Almost every night was spent with his two daughters on his knee, begging for the tales of Bilbo and the great dragon Smaug, or the perilous journey of the Ring Bearer. One was easier for Sam to read than the other, but that didn’t make either of them any less grand. 

It had been strange at first to read about himself from Frodo’s point of view. The tale presented him as a noble and kind person, describing the things that he’d thought as common courtesy as a light in the endless darkness, his protectiveness over Frodo as heroics when he himself thought of them as something any elf, dwarf, hobbit or man would do if they had been in the situation instead of him. It was even stranger still to see his children idolize him for the very same actions, and he’d sometimes bid them goodnight blushing hard with embarrassment. 

He peeked through the door to the girls’ room, loving gaze tracing from one bed to the other. Elanor was older, born a few months before Frodo had left, with Donna trailing behind by two years. They couldn’t be more different to each other, and yet you’d never find a pair of siblings so joined at the hip. Although, from Master Bilbo’s tales, Sam suspected the dwarflings Fili and Kili could give his girls a run for their money. 

Elanor was the quieter of the two. From the moment she could walk she’d hide behind her mother’s skirts. She was a practical hobbit, a respectable hobbit, as Rose’s mother would say. Yet her kindness was unmatched, eyes and arms open wide to ease all the suffering of the world if she could, an open mindedness in her that few in these parts could boast.

Donna was another matter entirely.

Donna, named after Bilbo’s mother Belladonna, was as adventurous and reckless as her namesake. It was difficult for Rose or Sam to call her in for her meals, as sometimes she’d be on the other side of the Shire, digging through the leaves and twigs of the forest in search of the gold and treasure Bilbo wrote about in his tales. 

When she’d been but a child edging into her tweens, she would adventure out, with a short branch in hand and a small pack with snacks strapped to her back. Sometimes she was off to find the dwarves underneath the stone of the mountains, others it would be to investigate whether there were elves hidden within the trees of the Old Forest. 

Once, she’d been determined to go on an adventure to find dragons. Whether it had been genuine curiosity or her imagination running wild after hearing about the firedrake Smaug, Sam would never know. However she’d managed to scare her mother witless when she didn’t return home until well after dark, arms scratched and hair a bird's nest. 

For all her adventurous tendencies, she was a sweet child. She greeted every person she saw on her ‘travels’. The younger hobbits dragged her off to play with them, her carefree laughter mingling with theirs easily gaily. 

She could be serious if the situation called for it, however. 

She had been incredibly calm when she’d sprained her wrist after an adventure. And again when Elanor had suddenly taken ill. Donna didn’t leave her side and Sam couldn’t recall her ever having tear tracks tracing down her cheeks. She was always there for her sister, and Sam was thankful for his two girls. 

Quietly so as not to disturb them, Sam stepped away from the door frame he’d leant against, padding back towards the bedroom with all the silence of a thief. Donna watched him go through slit eyes, having woken up from her own dreams a few minutes prior. She snuggled back down into the blankets when he left, comforted by her father’s presence as she went to sleep. 

The next morning, she came tearing through the kitchen, grabbing food from the table and shoving it inside a cotton bag. Rose yelped in surprise when she reached around her for a piece of toast. 

“Belladonna Isabelle Gamgee! What are you doing?” she asked, her tone coloured with laughter as she watched her youngest daughter eat her breakfast with gusto. She could spy Sam peering in from where he was lacing up his boots to head into town and they both shook their heads in tandem, each with a look of fond exasperation for their youngest. 

“I have to leave now! Otherwise I’ll miss the elves on their way through to the docks!” Donna replied, her dark green eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of such a sight. There had been less of them passing through as of late. It seemed they weren’t as eager to leave Middle Earth now that the evil had passed. “I’ll be back before supper, I promise!”

“Make sure you have enough to eat during the day,” Rose told her, pushing back her curls. She always worried about Donna, out on those adventures on her own. She knew there was no reason to, here in the safety of the Shire’s borders, but it was a mother’s instinct to keep her child safe. “And don’t get into too much trouble. I’ve already had one of the farmers come to complain to me about the amount of apples you’ve made off with in your pockets.” 

“That was for a good reason,” Donna pouted. 

“You’ll be careful?” came Elanor’s quiet voice from the doorway, face pinched in concern. 

“Of course! You could come with me, if you’d like?” Donna asked, lighting up in hopeful joy. Elanor rarely went with her on excursions. If it involved walking through the Old Forest she’d stay home. However, if Donna was going into the farmer’s open fields for the day, she’d follow along behind with her books and a blanket to sit on, much more interested in expanding the borders of her mind than exploring the reaches of her home. 

Today, she shook her head. “I have to help mother with the house chores since I was out all day yesterday,” she explained, and Donna nodded in dejected understanding. 

The roads were busy with people when Sam left Donna at one of the pathways towards the Old forest, patting her on the head before watching her trot down the leaf strewn pathway. She was a sensible hobbit, but that never stopped the well of anxiety as Sam watched her go, feeling the usual concern he had when she went on her adventures.

“Ah, Sam!” came the sound of Merry’s voice behind him and he had to tear his gaze away from the sight of Donna’s retreating back. 

He spent his days as Thain, elected after his brave acts during the War of the Ring were proclaimed by Frodo in his writings. He had read them out during his fifty second birthday party, after his surprising announcement of his retirement. Some would say it was reminiscent of Bilbo’s flair for the dramatics.

The people trusted Sam, his judgement and his character as the respectable hobbit of Bag-End. He was incredibly honoured that he had been trusted in this manner and after fifteen years in the position, he’d finally gotten used to being called by his title by people he would’ve thought as equals. 

The day passed without incident. He took counsel with the head’s of the major families, discussing plans for the new harvest, festivals and the like. He felt exhausted but pleasantly happy when he returned home that evening, a bit later than usual for he had taken the longer route. 

Stepping through the door, he was greeted by his wife’s concerned gaze, the wrinkle between her brows prominent. “Did you see Donna on your way home?” she asked as Sam hung his cloak. He felt a stab of fear that he tried to suppress, knowing that it is probably an overreaction for something that could possibly be trivial. 

“No, I took the longer way back because it’s such a gorgeous night. I saw no one but Mrs Dingle,” he replied slowly. “I’m sure she’s fine, she’s probably on her way home now.” he drew Rose into his arms, wrapping her in a calming embrace. However, he couldn’t deny the pit that suddenly opened in his stomach, nor his spiralling train of thought. 

Donna didn’t come home that night. Nor the next. And she didn’t turn up a week later, either. Sam began to unravel at the seams. His child, his baby girl, was missing. She’d gone somewhere that he couldn’t follow. He became desperate and was struggling to keep his personal feelings away from his role as a leader. 

It wasn’t until a month later, when a missive from the council asking for his, Merry and Pippin’s presence at Lothlorien arrived, did he realise that something bigger than his daughter’s mysterious disappearance was afoot. Something dangerous had suddenly made itself known in Middle Earth. 

***

It felt surreal for Eowyn to stand within the great hall. The sun dipped below the horizon, splitting the sky into the time old dance of blues, purples and oranges. As the town grew dark, men and women and children made for bed and the land grew quiet. It felt as if she was the only one awake, gazing up at the vacant throne before her. 

It had been empty for a week now, the warmth of a body no longer present. It felt unnatural for it to not have an occupant, to not have its seat filled with overflowing robes. And yet, here she stood. 

Her people, the soldiers, farmers, even the children had begun to search for their king. Although the little ones made a game of it, they genuinely wished to help. They were all concerned for their missing monarch, the sense of stability gained over the last fifteen years of his reign a great comfort to them all. 

No one knew where he was, the last to see him, the guards at the gate, watching him ride off without explanation. No one had seen him since.

Eowyn had been stalling the inevitable since then, not daring to broker the subject with the lords on the council. She knew that if she took over, it would solidify the fact that Eomer was missing. And she didn’t know whether she was ready. 

It was times like these that she missed Merry. The hobbit always found a way to make her smile, and his steadfast trust in her judgement always managed to boost her confidence. But, he was on the other side of the continent, where letters would take weeks, if not a month to arrive there and back. 

It had been decided during a council meeting between Eowyn and the horse lords of Rohan. They were resolute in their choice. Yet she couldn’t help feeling intimidated by the monumental task entrusted to her. When Eowyn joined the battle of Minas Tirith against her Uncle’s will, it was because it was what was _right_ and for no other reason. As easily as removing her gown and strapping on plate armour, she’d cast aside the stifling confines of her peoples’ expectations of soft silence and demure beauty to do what she knew she must. For her family. For her people. 

She could remember the reactions of her people after the battle of Minas Tirith. Some of the other women of Rohan were inspired by her, taking up shields and swords and aiding to defend their homeland when they returned, taking the places of the many men that had fallen in battle. It had now become normal to see women riding with the men on patrol, those not tasked with caring for children taking up arms.

She’d been lauded as a hero when she’d returned victorious, greeted with respectful admiration. She suspected that was the reason the horse lords feel she could become Queen in Eomer’s stead.

But leading the people?  _ Her  _ people? She grew unsteady at the thought. 

As she walked towards the throne, climbing one step after another with determination shining in her gaze, she could feel the presence of her Uncle, her Mother and Father and all the leaders that had come before her and knew she’d do well. 

There was the slight feeling of dread at the thought that this might be permanent, that Eomer might’ve been killed in an untimely accident, or captured by people who sought power. Or that this was something bigger none had foreseen, guards lowered after years of peace.

She drew herself up to her full height as she reached the throne, fingers tracing over the arm of the chair. She would keep her country standing during this time of crisis, until the time came for Eomer to take back his role. 

She would be Queen until then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, y'all can thank Lynx for betaing this baby, and please check out the other part to this series Home is Behind! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh? Is this plot I see? And some familiar faces?
> 
> AKA the longggggest piece of dialogue I've ever written my hands are gonna fall off it's so long T_T
> 
> Enjoy you gorgeous human beings and thank you for your lovely comments and kudoses! :D

Eragon sat amidst the piles of books that filled his room, turning the pages of a thick tome carefully. He felt completely at ease, a cool breeze drifting through the open window to ruffle the sheer curtains and the strands of his dark hair that fell over his eyes. He could hear the sounds of wildlife on the ground far below from where he sat by the opening in the tree, surrounding him with tranquility.

He’d never been able to relax so completely before. He recalled how at one point of his involvement with the Varda and the Elves he’d felt as if he was being pulled in multiple directions, eagle-spread as multiple people begged for his attention. Except now, he found his days filled with nothing but books and the gentle sunlight that pierced through the leaves above them. 

The history of the land they had settled in was fascinating, filled with the most epic of battles and magical beings. The inhabitants called it Middle Earth, but at its conception, it was known as Endor. He found countless novels on its creation, hundreds of pages long. He knew Brom would’ve loved to get his hands on them. 

Often Eragon would drag Haldir back to his room from his duties, where they would sit and read for hours, Eragon asking countless questions that had him feeling like he was sixteen again and travelling with Brom. The Elf had become a good friend to the Rider. Skilled with bow and blade the two would spar daily, and the Rider had yet to beat Haldir. Although, the Elf would reason that he’d had thousands of years to train, which Eragon  _ still  _ couldn’t quite wrap his head around. 

Haldir had been incredibly kind. All of them had been once they’d seen that Eragon and Saphira posed no threat. It helped that the Lady Galadriel had spoken on his behalf until he could learn their tongue. But Haldir had become his first friend in this new situation, and a very good one at that. 

Middle Earth was incredibly fascinating, filled with fewer magic users than Alagaesia but it was no less powerful and majestic. The history was rife with battles and wars and the continent had seen more violence than peace in the time it had been in existence. Creatures larger than a full grown dragon lived beneath the stone, monsters rested in the waters around the land that hadn’t been seen in centuries and eagles larger than houses came to the people’s aid in times of great need.

The cultures were completely different to what Eragon was used to and he found himself wanting to learn more with every book he read. He voraciously ate through the histories of Elves, Dwarves, Men and evil creatures called Orcs. He found a particular interest in small beings called Hobbits, and often found his attention being drawn towards the stories of the Quest for Erebor and the Fellowship of the Ring.

The creatures who lived and breathed the land seemed to lack any magic, the only ones capable of using it being five beings, two of which were dead, and Lady Galadriel. However it wasn’t used as Eragon knew of, often attaching itself to relics and artifacts and using them as conduits. He recalled how Lady Galadriel had been fascinated by his use of his mark to create magic, the Lady of the Wood asking many questions to sate her curiosity. 

Saphira lay a few metres away from where he sat at a wooden table, curled up with her wings folded. A small glistening egg sat between her claws, warmed by her body temperature and hot breath. It hadn’t hatched yet and Eragon wondered if it ever would, as there were no mentions of Riders in the books he had read. 

Eragon had noticed it two years before when he’d returned from another of his excursions. Saphira had been tight lipped about who its sire was or if she was going to tell him, but Eragon didn’t pry. He’d sat and admired the bright green colouring, eyes flitting over the flecks of honey yellow on its surface. He’d complimented his partner on such a gorgeous egg, and Saphira had preened. 

The egg itself had become a new motivation for Eragon. If the dragon was going to hatch, it would when the conditions were right, and in this land where there were hardly any mentions of dragons, or as they were named ‘fire drakes’. They were often referred during the first to second age of Middle Earth and usually as servants of an evil being named Morgoth. The only one to ever come down from the north was Smaug. Eragon was concerned that the egg would never hatch if he didn’t do something about the fear that surrounded the notion of dragons like a fog. Although, it didn’t seem the fire-drakes were doing anything to improve their reputation. Granted, no one had seen one of them for years, not after Erebor. 

_ I can feel you staring at me, little one,  _ Saphira said, peeking one blue eye open.  _ It’s rude.  _

_ Sorry, got distracted,  _ he replied, running a hand over his face in slight exhaustion.  _ What happens if the little guy won’t come out? Will he stay as an egg for ages?  _

_ You seemed to have forgotten that I didn’t hatch for twenty years, so it is entirely possible he won’t for a while,  _ she told him. 

_ Right, sorry again,  _ Eragon said, turning back to his books. After a few minutes, he found he couldn’t concentrate and threw his pen back onto the pile of parchment that lay before him. He stretched his back, listening to his joints pop before standing.

Saphira stood as well, mindful of her head and the proximity of the ceiling. Their rooms were at the very top of an ash tree, standing on a flat platform and holed out of the trunk. It was comfortable and fit both of them, and was a good spot to take off from if they needed a late night flight. 

Eragon mounted the saddle effortlessly after placing it onto her back, the two of them so in tune with each other that he didn’t have to ask. He tied down his legs into the loops at the sides while she wandered towards the edge of the platform where it fell away into a steep drop. 

With a great sweep of her wings, Saphira took to the skies, the wind rustling the leaves around them. She took them higher and higher until Eragon could reach out and trace the clouds with his fingertips. He could feel his shoulders relaxing and his mind calming at the steady beat of Saphira’s wings, the only sound filling his ears the roaring of the wind.

They never flew far from Lothlorien, always minding to stay out of sight so as to not cause any panic. The two of them found it irritating the first few times, as having to fly in circles over the trees grew tedious. But they grew to enjoy it as it meant they didn’t have to go great lengths without rest and they both found it relaxing to float above the treetops. 

It had taken the two of them a while to get used to the tranquility of their new home. Both Eragon and Saphira had been tense their first week within the trees, tight lipped about how they came to be there with everyone but Lady Galadriel. 

However, the elves had been just as wary to the two of them. The guards grew jumpy when he and Saphira went out for their night flights, and on a few occasions weapons had been turned on them in fear when Saphira had landed unexpectedly. But over the years, the creatures and the inhabitants of the forest had become used to their presence and now Eragon could say he’d call Lorien home. 

He spent the fifteen years he’d been in Middle Earth reading, and studying all he could on the land. This included some of the many languages, the cultures of the people and the history. He was often found in either Lorien’s or Rivendell extensive libraries, reading through large books at extraordinary speeds. He knew that if he needed to implore with the people of Middle Earth, he would learn their languages. 

Saphira opened her wings wide, gliding on the currents of wind around them as Eragon intoned a simple spell to keep him warm. He leaned forward, clutching onto one of her spikes and gazing at the land splayed out below them.

_ I missed this,  _ he said, relaxing into the steady beat of her wings.  _ I’m sorry I was gone for so long.  _

She huffed out a puff of dark smoke from her nostrils, but Eragon could feel her own gratitude for his return.  _ You would’ve come back sooner if you hadn’t taken that misguided detour to Moria’s gate.  _ She sent a flash of irritation, and Eragon winced at his own lack of judgement. 

_ I’d been reading about its mechanisms and of how it had stumped a great sorcerer. From all the stories, you’d think Gandalf the Grey would be able to solve a riddle. I wanted to see its splendor for myself. It was on my way back anyway,  _ he said, thinking back to the shining symbols etched into the stone. The visit had been short, and Eragon shuddered at the terrifying memory of his subsequent flight from a creature bursting from the dark waters behind him. He’d discovered it was the Watcher in the Water, a foul evil creature who’d lived in the waters by the west gate of Moria for years. Eragon had been quick to leave when it had appeared. 

He’d spent most of the last fifteen years travelling back and forth between Lothlorien and Rivendell, Galadriel having introduced Eragon to Lord Elrond and his two sons before the two elders left for the Undying Lands. Eragon had been concerned about the Lady of the wood leaving so soon after his arrival, thinking her subjects would turn against him the minute she left and cast both himself and Saphira out of their home. No one made a move to do so. In fact, the elves were perfectly cordial with both of them. 

He liked the twins; Elladan and Elrohir. Eragon appreciated their joyful and cheeky demeanors that differed from other leaders he had known in his time. They had offered the library to him when he visited, but neither knew about Saphira. Eragon thought it best to keep her presence hidden for the time being. The twins seemed to like him, often including him in their evening meals to listen to Eragon talk about what he’d discovered.

They were dismayed to discover that the Men and other races of middle earth would probably raise an army at a sighting of a dragon, so it had become normal for the two of them to be separated for weeks at a time as Eragon explored the rich history and culture of this world, all of which he shared with Saphira whenever he returned. That didn’t mean either of them liked it.

Casting aside the thought of work for now, he closed his eyes and stretched out with his mind, expanding his senses to feel the whole forest. The animals within the ground and trees had since become used to him and Saphira and didn’t shy away when Eragon’s conscience brushed against theirs. 

He could sense the elves among the trees, light and graceful. He nudged against Lord Celeborn’s presence, feeling the intense concentration and left him be. Finally, he found Haldir. Eragon hadn’t seen him since he returned from Rivendell and the elf just on the western side of the expanse. Eragon felt a burst of joy at the thought of his friend, urging Saphira to turn in that direction before something else halted him. 

A group of people were approaching the southern entrance, the sounds of hooves against the leaf strewn ground just audible with his keen hearing. It looked to be a large entourage, easily forty strong. Eragon didn’t dare to expose himself or Saphira by going any lower, so with the ease of rippling water the two of them melded together, Eragon seeing through her eyes. 

They carried few banners and wore simple clothing with hardly any armour. It seemed that they wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. But from where he and Saphira floated just below the clouds, Eragon could make out the white horse of Rohan on one of the banners. He didn’t get a good look at the others before Saphira was angling herself perpendicular to the ground and folding in her wings. 

Neither of them spoke of what they’d seen as they flew to where Eragon had last felt Haldir, the silence tense. They breached the treeline quickly and Eragon felt his stomach shoot into his throat as Saphira halted their descent with flared wings. She let herself drop a few meters above the ground, shuddering the plants around them. 

Eragon dismounted with ease, searching the surrounding trees until he spotted Haldir a few metres away. He quickened his stride, distress tying his stomach into knots. The elf glanced up from where he was crouched by the roots of a great tree. He smiled at Eragon’s arrival, but upon seeing the other’s anxious demeanour, his brow furrowed. 

“Intruders,” Eragon blurted before the elf could ask. “They’ve entered through the main gate and seem to be about forty strong. They hold the banners of Rohan.” 

_ And some rode on ponies,  _ Saphira chipped in, allowing Haldir to hear her as well. 

“Were their weapons drawn?” Haldir asked, and Eragon shook his head. Haldir didn’t look as worried as Eragon thought he would be. 

“You’re not concerned?” he asked, and he could feel Saphira’s confusion as well. The two of them knew that even if a troop of soldiers looked to pose no threat, their weapons could be drawn in a matter of seconds. It was unusual to see someone so calm in when their home was being invaded. 

“I believe someone neglected to inform you when you arrived last night,” Haldir replied, “A council meeting has been called.” 

“What council?” Eragon asked, a sense of foreboding slithering up his spine. He knew of  _ a  _ council, one mentioned in the history books which composed of Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and two Istari, all of whom had since departed Middle Earth. But there had also been another one which formed the Fellowship who would go on to destroy the One Ring. 

Haldir sighed, “I’m afraid I do not have all of the details myself. In any case, we must make our way back. I believe Lord Celeborn will be willing to inform you of what is going on.” 

It was too risky to fly in a situation that already felt tense, so Saphira had to grudgingly tuck her wings tight to her sides and walk, carrying Eragon on her back while Haldir effortlessly kept pace, boots almost silent against the ground as he ran. 

Celeborn was waiting for them at the base of the sycamore tree that served as a great hall. He looked calm, almost serene with his hands folded in front of him and expression devoid of any distress. 

“A council of great import has been called,” he told them when they approached, and Eragon could see the tension in the slight furrow in his brow. “People of Middle Earth have been going missing, and it looks to be that it is much larger than we think. It would be good for you to listen in but, I will have a favour to ask of you, Eragon, Saphira. It will take you away from the safety of Lorien if you agree but I think we should wait for the council to gather before I ask it of you.” 

“It would be best if you were to watch the proceedings from the trees,” he said and Eragon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m concerned your presence might cause some...distress for a few of our guests without proper introduction. Will this be alright?” 

_ You alright doing this?  _ Eragon asked, running his hand over Saphira’s flank with guilt.  _ It probably won’t be very convenient for either of us.  _ Eragon could feel the strong emotion of restlessness and uncertainty from Saphira, and he could feel the same feelings bubbling under his skin. 

_ Nor will it be comfortable for us either,  _ she snorted,  _ but if it is what we must do, then so be it. My wings will just have to get used to it.  _ And Eragon glanced up to spy the short, thick branches that tucked close into the trunk of the tree. It looked as if there wouldn't be much room for them, and he grew concerned about the strain on Saphira’s legs. 

He leant over the saddle, almost parallel with Saphira’s wings as their minds melded with ease once again. With her keen eyesight, Eragon could make out the collection of chairs being placed in a circle, a few meters apart from each other. There were twelve in all and no one had come in yet. He could feel Saphira adjusting the position of her claws so that she was comfortable. 

_ Any idea what could be the cause of the missing people?  _ he asked, a flash of curiosity dancing between them so strongly Eragon didn’t know whether it was his or Saphira’s. People were approaching, the sounds of their footsteps echoing through the corridors. 

_ No,  _ she replied,  _ but whoever’s coming is not an elf.  _ She sniffed the air surrounding them and Eragon could smell the sour scent of sweat and horses and his nose wrinkled at the stench. He shook it off to concentrate on the meeting. 

Celeborn was the first to enter and Eragon watched as his eyes flickered to the leaves overhead. The Rider glanced his mind over the Lord’s, reassuring him they were hidden and listening intently. He nodded imperceptibly and made his way to a seat. 

The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, entered next and Eragon grinned as they took their seats as well. Saphira hummed as Eragon shared some of the fonder memories he’d made with the two mischievous Elves on his last trip to Rivendell. As they flowed between the two of them, two dwarves and a Man entered. 

The man’s cloak was emblazoned with a white tree, the colour stark against the deep navy material. Eragon couldn’t make out any markings of a clan on the Dwarves’ armour and a dull spike of longing lanced through his chest at the memory of Orik.

He shoved it down, knowing this was no time for remembrances and caught onto Saphira’s curiosity at the next three members. He’d never seen anything like them; small with large, hairy feet. There were three of them wrapped in green travelling cloaks and wearing no footwear. He’d read about these little people, or Hobbits as they were known. If he recalled correctly, one of them had taken the One Ring to its destruction in Mount Doom and he found it amazing that someone as small and kind hearted as a Hobbit could complete a duty so large. 

He found it was similar to what he had to go through with his duty as a Rider. How he had been thrust into this huge role that seemed almost a dream, as if it should be someone else who should be the leaders of the Riders, and how insecure he had felt at the beginning. He had read accounts of Frodo’s task, of the Ring he had to carry across half the continent, how there was strife and danger at every turn. He thought of how both of them had grown to see what they had to do as his duty to carry out. Although he’d never met the hobbit, Eragon always felt himself relating to his journey, knowing how heavy a burden it must’ve been. 

They looked solemn as they stepped into the room, faces drawn and brows pinched in stress. Eragon could see it in their shoulders as well in the way they were drawn almost up to their ears. He found it a complete juxtaposition to what he’d read about hobbits, but he supposed this was a very unique situation. 

Another elf entered and Eragon only glimpsed a flash of fair long hair and bright green eyes before he too took his seat. 

The final person to take their place was clothed in brown, holding a staff between gnarled hands. Saphira wrinkled her nose at the smell of him, bird droppings and wood muddled together to create a pungent stench. Eragon could feel his power, overwhelming and warm as it emanated from the man. It stretched out and latched onto the plants and trees surrounding Lothlorien, and Eragon marvelled at his ability. 

It was similar to Eragon’s own magic, although he doubted he’d be able to stretch himself out to the distance this sorcerer could. Eragon realised that this must be one of the Istari. He’d noted them often in the history books, most becoming active during what was known as the Third Age. They too used the Ancient Language to utilise their magic, but used items to direct the flow of power, whereas Eragon often used his  _ gedwey ignasia,  _ the mark Saphira had bound them with at her hatching.

From what Eragon had read, it had seemed as if the five Istari worked with a hierarchy, the white wizard their leader and the grey one taking over if he perished, which was shown in the tales recorded during the Third Age. Eragon had always wished to meet one of them, but the three that had remained in Middle Earth were very secretive. 

With everyone finally seated, Celeborn finally stood to address the gathering, a hush falling over them all. Eragon urged Saphira to tilt her head so that their view through the thick leaves was less obscured. 

_ Little one,  _ she scolded,  _ any further and we will tumble out of the tree. Unless you want a collection of weapons pointed at our heads, I suggest we stay where we are.  _

He could sense the fondness she had for his curiosity and once again his mind sent him back to the innocent sixteen year old he had been, pestering Brom with his insatiable hunger for knowledge, finally wetted after leaving the stifling confines of Palancar Valley. His ears grew slightly pink in embarrassment and he turned his attention back to the meeting. 

“Thank you for arriving on such short notice,” Celeborn began, his quiet countenance holding the attention of every being in the vicinity. “What we’re here to discuss today affects us all.” 

He paused for a moment, letting the murmurs die down, the air suddenly thick with tension. “It has come to our attention that people have been disappearing throughout Middle Earth. Most of them appear to be from houses of importance, but there have been reports of civilians disappearing as well. Some return after a few weeks, but some haven’t been seen since. Eomer, King of Rohan, Ellana, daughter of Aragorn, and Donna, daughter of Sam are the three who have not returned. Those who do, their memories have been wiped and they have no recollection of the incident.”

“There have been rumblings of unease erupting across the land. Orcs have begun to make their appearance known from Gundabad and the goblins grow restless under the Misty Mountains,” he continued, and a ripple of unease swept around the circle of chairs.

“My Lord Gimli has become the newest to join that rank,” one of the dwarves cut in, and this time the council erupted into anxious whispers. Eragon strained to hear what they were saying from the tree top.

“That is unfortunate tidings,” Celeborn continued, hand raising to cup his chin in thought. “It seems the situation is accelerating with each passing week.” 

“What is to be done then?” called out the Man with the white tree emblazoned on his cloak. “We cannot just sit here while our heirs and leaders disappear from under our noses.” “We could research this first, discover whether this has happened before. Perhaps it is an isolated occurrence?” Elladan questioned, and Eragon nodded in agreement, though the elf couldn’t see him. “Or perhaps investigate why it is these four people specifically?”

“Would you not know?” piped one of the hobbits. “You know, seeing as how you are immortal and would know about these things.” His fellow suddenly elbowed him hard and he yelped. The hobbit blushed, realising how rude he sounded, but Elladan smiled kindly at him. 

“I’m afraid our knowledge of the land isn’t as extensive as our father had been, and indeed, the same could be said for Celeborn or Legolas. However, the tomes in our library and the ones in Minas Tirith might give us the information we need,” he told the council at large. 

“We should try to find them  _ now. _ There’s no point researching if we don’t know where they are,” the fair haired elf pointed out. “When the Fellowship was formed we left Rivendell without delay.” 

“This situation is different, Legolas. We cannot go into this blind, or would you have us wander the countryside without aim that we should happen upon them?” Celeborn cut in, turning a stern eye to the elf. Chastised, Legolas fell quiet. “I’m afraid I have more grave news. It has come to our attention that the bodies of the Nazgul were never recovered.” 

“Are you suggesting those... _ monsters  _ could be behind this?” one of the Hobbits asked, disgust clear in his expression. One of his companions placed his hand gently on his arm, calming him slightly. 

“It could be, or it might be the forces of Morgoth planning for the return of their leigelord,” the Man piped in, and suddenly every person began spouting ideas, reducing the room to a cacophony of noise that had Eragon gripping his ears. 

Saphira nudged him through the bond, directing him to look at the sorcerer, who hadn’t moved. One hand gripped his staff so tight, Eragon could hear the wood creak. His power was spiking, emanating and stretching again and Eragon quickly put up his strongest mental shields so that it glanced off himself and Saphira. The sorcerer's eyes were crossed and his lips were moving quickly as if he were chanting. 

He snapped out of it suddenly, thudding the butt of his staff against the ground. He stood, quieting the rest of the council. “It is neither the Nazgul, nor Morgoth. It is something not of this world, something I have never seen before,” he said, and he now had every set of eyes on him, fear rippling through the council once again. “It is a dark presence, sound of mind and black of heart. And it doesn’t seem to be just one, but many. We must approach this with the utmost caution.” 

Fear curled around Eragon’s heart in a tight grip, a sense of foreboding creeping up his spine. He didn’t like where this was going, the bubble of peace surrounding him deflating before his very eyes. 

“Do we know if they have ill intent for Middle Earth?” Celeborn asked, and the sorcerer shook his head. 

“You’re saying this could be worse than what we experienced with Sauron?” the man asked, and the sorcerer bowed his head almost in shame. “We defeated the greatest darkness in Middle Earth only for another to take its place. Will this cycle never end?” 

“As we have said before, caution must be our first priority. We do not know what they are planning, and it would be foolish to plan without information,” Celeborn told the council. 

“My daughter had been missing for  _ months  _ now,” one of the Hobbits exclaimed, his voice trembling with barely contained anguish, “and you expect me to sit here and research something that might not be connected to her or Eomer or Ellana’s disappearances?” 

A hush fell over the council as he stood, his small stature commanding the room and every eye falling on him. “No,” he said, turning his stern gaze to each of them, “I refuse to be complacent while she’s out there, alone and afraid. We need to search for them!” 

Celeborn regarded the hobbit for a few seconds and Eragon leant forward in interest. “I agree, but we do not know where to begin a search, let alone how dangerous this situation might become. That is why information gathering is of the utmost importance.” 

The hobbit took his seat again reluctantly, eyes glaring at the floor as the elf turned to the rest of the council once again. “We need to discover if there is motive to what is happening and whether the disappearances are connected. You will need to travel to Rohan, and Minas Tirith in order to do this. As Mister Gamgee has already looked into his daughter’s disappearance, there is no need to venture to the Shire.” 

“I suppose this means a new Fellowship, correct?” another of the hobbits asked, and Celeborn nodded. 

“A group of nine of you will leave Lothlorien in the morning, heading south for Rohan,” Celeborn told them and immediately the three Hobbits stood. A ripple of laughter flowed through the council, and even Eragon smiled. The Elf nodded to the three, amusement, but no real surprise, glinting in his eyes. 

The two men stood next with stern contenances, as did one of the dwarves. Legolas was next to stand before Celeborn suddenly held up a hand, catching everyone's attention once again. Eragon furrowed his brow in interest. 

“I have already assigned two members to your group,” Celeborn announced, and Eragon felt her muscles quiver as Saphira shifted on the branch in impatience, legs aching from spending so long hidden within the leaves. “It would be best if you refrain from drawing your weapons,” he added, expression suddenly falling as he stood once again from his seat. “I’m dismayed that I couldn’t warn you before, but My Lady Galadriel implored us all to keep them safe from discovery and harm,” he said and Eragon felt as the Elf gently pressed against his shields once all blades were put away. 

Disconnecting the spell with Saphira, Eragon strapped down his legs, gripping tight with his thighs as Saphira launched them into the air, the branches shaking about them. The two shot into the sky, turned and plummeted back down again. The wind caught her wings as Saphira snapped them open with a  _ thump _ , slowing their descent to land gracefully. 

_ Show off, _ Eragon said, a flicker of pride running through their bond. 

There was silence for a few seconds as the council took in Saphira’s impressive form before it was broken by a sudden cry of “Dragon!” The two dwarves immediately drew their axes again, turning the blades towards Saphira who drew her lips back with a snarl. 

She backed away as more weapons were drawn, the tension suddenly tripling and she pulled her wings up, shielding Eragon from attack as an arrow was fired. It stopped dead in its tracks ten feet away from Saphira before dropping to the ground with a dull clatter, and a stunned silence fell over them all. 

“Stop!” Eragon cried from Saphira’s back, drawing all attention to himself.  _ Saphira, let them see me,  _ he said, running a hand against her neck gently, feeling her rumbling growl under his legs. Her wings finally dropped, allowing her Rider to be within sight of the council. 

He could spy the twin’s awed looks, and he brushed his mind against theirs in greeting, watching their shoulders relax slightly as they inclined their heads in reply. 

There seemed to be a mixture of reactions; the dwarves still stood with their axes drawn, standing in front of the hobbits, two of whom gazed at him and Saphira in open mouthed wonder, the last halfling looking incredibly wary. The Elf and two men were clutching their own weapons, glancing between Saphira and Eragon in fear.

The sorcerer was the first to approach, gazing at Saphira with barely contained excitement. “All my years, I’ve never seen such a creature,” he muttered, his gaze taking all of her in at once. “Tell me, what is your name?” and the sorcerer bowed his head in respect, catching both Eragon and Saphira unaware. 

“I am Eragon, son of Brom, Shadeslayer and Leader of the Dragon Riders. And this is Saphira, daughter of Iormungr, Brightscales and last Dragon,” Eragon introduced. 

“Radagast the brown, at your service,” the sorcerer introduced, bowing at the waist which Eragon acknowledged with a head tilt of his own. 

“We mean you no harm,” he said quietly, brushing against their minds lightly as Saphira relaxed her stance, finally letting him dismount gracefully from her back. 

Sensing that the strong wash of discontent and fear had not been eased in the least by at least one in their party, Eragon turned his unimpressed gaze to the elf - Legolas. He crouched to pick up the elf’s arrow from the ground, ignoring the amazed expressions he was getting, and the flash of smug pride from Saphira as he held it out. 

“It wouldn’t do to lose any weapons before we’ve left,” he said, turning his dark eyed gaze to the Elf, watching as Legolas’ eyes widened in shock when the Rider handed the arrow back to him. Eragon’s dark eyes took in the Elf, noting his beauty, but something curled in his stomach as the distrustful sneer on Legolas’ face. The Elf turned his gaze away with an annoyed click of his teeth at Eragon’s reprimand, avoiding the Rider’s gaze. Eragon furrowed his brows before turning to Celeborn. 

“I suppose this means Saphira and I are to go on this journey?” he asked, and Celeborn inclined his head. Eragon sighed at the prospect of having to move from this little paradise he and Saphira created to deal with another evil, realising this was the favour Celeborn wanted to ask of him. 

“Now wait just a minute, we’re just meant to trust this- this  _ stranger  _ and his  _ dragon _ ? How do we know he’s not a servant of Sauron? Or Morgoth?!” one of the dwarves cried out, brandishing his axe in Eragon’s direction. 

_ “I wouldn’t point your axe in our direction, Stone Breaker. Unless you want to become the blunt of this  _ **_stranger_ ** _ and his  _ **_dragon’s_ ** _ anger,”  _ Eragon spat in Khuzdul, the dwarf flinching so hard he knocked into his fellow behind him. 

_ “You  _ **_dare_ ** _ speak our language?!”  _ the other Dwarf roared, swinging his axe at the Rider as Saphira snarled. Eragon didn’t need help however, drawing Brisingr with quick efficiency and halting the attack with the blue blade.

_ “I do,”  _ Eragon said before suddenly switching to Sindarin,  _ “as I do elvish,”  _ and the elf startled in surprise,  _ “and the Language of the Ancients.”  _

Radagast’s wild brows furrowed as the two men shepherded the three hobbits behind them. 

Suddenly, Eragon was furious. He knew he was to expect some hostility, but to be attacked with no reason other than what Saphira was had his anger boiling over. He had been swung at too many times by too many people to let this stand. He threw the blade of the axe off his sword, standing straight and tall as Saphira came to lean her head by his shoulder, her growl echoing around the trees. 

“It would be within your interest to  _ trust me.  _ This situation is full of enough uncertainties as it is without fear tearing the group apart. I have experienced a darkness such as this, one that took over my home, one that I  _ destroyed. _ I am more qualified than  _ anyone _ to aid you in this quest,” Eragon proclaimed, and it took a few seconds but their weapons were finally put away, the council taking their seats as Eragon stood by Saphira. 

_ That was well handled, little one,  _ she praised, eyes closing as he reached up to scratch the scales under her chin. 

_ It could’ve gone better though if  _ **_someone_ ** _ wasn’t such a show off and just landed quietly,  _ he shot back, shaking his head as she turned innocent blue eyes to him. 

_ Who, me? A show off? Never,  _ she said sarcastically, and Eragon smiled fondly, patting her neck before turning his attention back towards the council. 

_ It’s way better watching this from here,  _ he commented. 

_ My legs are grateful for the break,  _ she told him, flexing her claws and ruffling her wings. Eragon watched as the dwarves flinched at the movement, hands gripping the handles of their axes again. Saphira flashed her teeth at them in what she considered a grin, but was actually quite terrifying to those who didn’t know her, and they flinched again. 

_ Saphira,  _ Eragon scolded. 

The council was concluded swiftly and the members hurried past Saphira and Eragon on their way out with varying degrees of caution or outright distrust. Celeborn remained behind, standing from his seat with a sigh. Eragon could see the exhaustion in the elf’s slumped shoulders. 

“You will be joining them tomorrow morning, Eragon,” he told him. “I believe the group will need your talents, and Saphira’s talons. You will also ride one of our steeds. Saphira will have to fly above you during the day.” 

Eragon nodded his head, jaw clenched in slight irritation, and Saphira huffed out a breath of smoke. They’d done this many times in Alagaesia, but they didn’t enjoy it. Their bond wasn’t meant to stretch thousands of meters, and neither like the feeling of isolation that came with its strain. 

“I suppose there is no other way around this,” he said, sighing as he mounted with ease, strapping down his legs. “I will report to the stables tomorrow morning once Saphira and I are packed.” 

And Saphira kicked off from the platform, allowing the breeze to drift the both of them to their rooms gently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do tell me what you thought of this guys! Comments and Kudos are what authors live for you lovely bunch! And if you're feeling adventurous do throw in some theories there...I'd love to see what you think will happen ;)
> 
> And please do go and take a look at the other part to this series! We were both complete nerds and couldn't help ourselves. The rabbit hole is getting deeper by the day...


	4. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins

The rain pattered outside the cave, thunder booming loudly as intermittent flashes of lightning illuminated the entire landscape. The cave was big enough for all of them, Eragon sitting as far away from the main body of the group as the cave allowed. The tension and wariness between the company was thick, so much so that Eragon suspected he could cut through it with Brisingr. 

They’d been riding until they were halted by a storm, unable to go further for the lack of visibility. They’d tied up the horses under the cover of trees, the animals tired from the leagues they’d travelled that day. Saphira had flown above them begrudgingly, keeping out of sight within the clouds. She had warned Eragon of the storm clouds ahead, and they’d managed to find this cave before the downpour began. 

It had been incredibly reminiscent of his journey with Brom, so much so that he expected to see the brown coat of Cadoc underneath him. But he didn’t, and there wasn’t any grumpy storyteller to keep him company, and Saphira was so high up he couldn’t keep a steady stream of conversation with her without feeling exhausted from the strain. 

Celeborn had been kind enough to give Eragon a black mare from Lorien’s stables before they left. The horse was incredibly intelligent, and of a kind temperament when he had reached out to touch her consciousness. She seemed less flighty than Cadoc had been, capable of reaching out to his own as well. It seemed even the horses were different here. 

“She is very loyal, and will carry you great distances with ease. May she take care of you,” Celeborn had said to Eragon as the Rider ran his hand down the mare’s flank. That had proved true, the horse hardly spooking when Saphira made an appearance, and Eragon had been pleasantly surprised when she offered memories of riding across great open plains when the silence of the group pulled down his mood. Granted, they were only fleeting images, not anywhere close to the long conversations he could have with Saphira. But they comforted him as they rode. 

He was used to silence when he travelled, often running too hard and fast to have proper conversation with his companions. Yet, whenever he had stopped, whether it had been with Orik or Garshvog, there was always some chatter. 

With this new company, hardly anyone spoke, and when they did it was in quiet murmerings amongst themselves, the glances back towards the Rider hardly subtle. Radagast had been the only one to talk with him at length, asking about Saphira. He had kept it brief, breaking off to mutter under his breath after a few minutes and leaving Eragon to silence once again. Although it disheartened Eragon, he kept himself busy keeping an eye on their surroundings, filling Aren and the belt of Beloth the Wise with energy when he could and as subtly as possible. 

His mare’s name was Nahar, after one of the great horses of old as Eragon recalled. Indeed, when he was stretching his senses to the land around him, the horses that carried the rest of the company greeted him, offering their own names if they could. Although the ponies the hobbits rode were slightly stubborn and didn’t dare give their whole names.

Eragon heard the clatter and thud of Saphira’s landing just outside the opening of the cave, and she greeted him joyously. 

_ Did you have a good hunt?  _ he asked as she ducked into their shelter, shaking droplets of rain from her scales before stepping in. The company shied away from her, some offering wary stares as she settled herself behind Eragon, the Rider leaning against her foreleg. 

_ Yes, the deer gave good chase,  _ she told him.  _ Did anything happen while I was away?  _ He could smell the scent of iron on her claws and his nose wrinkled in slight discomfort. Although he did hunt for food, and he would often fight on battlefields covered in blood, he knew he would never get used to the stench.

_ No. The silence hasn’t been broken yet and the stares have yet to be dropped,  _ he told her, pulling out his whetstone to run it along the edge of his blade.  _ I was thinking of going hunting in the morning myself, see whether the offering of food will bring down some barriers.  _

_ Little one, do not forget that we are strangers to them. Some know each other, others are trusted because of their affiliation with their kingdoms and some have never met. But they suddenly have new additions, one they consider to be evil and dangerous. We’re the anomaly,  _ she said.  _ Don’t expect them to welcome us with open arms so quickly.  _

_ I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?  _ he asked, the pit of loneliness creeping up on him once again. If he showed that he wouldn’t harm them, that he could be trusted even if it was just to get them food, he’d do it. He hated having the distrustful gazes on his back. 

_ I suppose, and if they don’t eat it, I will,  _ Saphira said, mouth stretching to display impressive fangs. Eragon smiled fondly at her, knowing it wasn’t threatening.

The rustling of cloaks drew his attention, and the Rider watched as the company settled where they sat to sleep, bedrolls pulled out from bags that seemed to fit the entire city of Rivendell. It seemed they’d organised a watch rota as the dwarf stayed sitting, keeping a stern eye on the cave entrance, and Saphira and Eragon. 

The Rider spotted Legolas sitting against the wall, eyes open but focused on the ground in front of him. He didn’t move at all except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Eragon suddenly felt curious as to whether the Elf experienced what he did with his waking dreams, or if he perpetually stayed awake. He didn’t dare ask however, slightly concerned at the reaction his question would get. 

Eragon sighed quietly in despondency, but tugged his own cloak around his shoulders. He leant against Saphira’s flank, grateful for her warmth as the wind rose to a roar outside. He allowed his eyes to slip close, and his waking dreams to envelope his mind. 

Morning came, and the sun slanted in, pulling Eragon from his sleep. It was warm on his face, but bright enough to rouse him. He realised that no one had awoken him to keep watch during the night, and the blatant distrust carved a hole in his chest. 

He sat up quietly, gathering his bow and quiver of arrows from his pack before coming to a crouch. He cast his gaze to the others before making his way out of the cave. They were all sleeping calmly, the Hobbits huddled together under their blankets, the Men off to the side and Radagast leaning against the wall of the cave, eyes rolled back. Eragon felt a shiver up his spine at the sight of the sorcerer but he shook it off and stepped outside. He didn’t notice a pair of green eyes watching him as he left. 

The grass beneath Eragon’s feet was sodden with rain, mud running slick along the paths and the leaves of the trees heavy with water. The scent of fresh rain was refreshing and his keen eyes caught sight of deer tracks a few yards away. He tamped down on his magic, wanting to do this without aid and began to make his way through the trees. He found some comfort in the fact that he could still hunt on his own as he had when he had lived with Gwarrow and Roran.

His soft soled boots made no sound and birdsong filled the air. Eragon crouched low to the ground, tracing his fingertips over the prints embedded in the dirt. He was getting close, the animal likely heading to a river to drink. The adrenaline of the hunt rushed through his veins, tensing his muscles. He dragged more air in and tried to calm his heartbeat as he continued. 

He had loved doing this when he was a boy, the peaks of the Spine being the only things surrounding him. Eragon always found it relaxing to let himself blend with the elements, following an animal's journey only a few minutes, or sometimes hours, behind. 

When he’d been a boy, he felt he was doing something to thank Gwarrow and Roran for feeding him and keeping a roof over his head. He’d known when he’d first heard of how he had been left with his uncle that the man could’ve easily refused his sister, and Eragon would’ve ended up somewhere completely different. So, he always felt it his duty to supply the small family with as much meat as he could, sometimes going for days in the Spine and returning ladened down with the rewards of his hunts. 

It was calm and tranquil within the forest, a complete difference to the storm that had ripped through the terrain the day before. Eragon’s keen senses picked out the signs of life within the trees, but he paid them little mind, concentrating solely on tracking his prey. He couldn’t afford to become distracted, or he’d lose it and would be forced to return empty handed. 

He didn’t know how this was going to be received back at camp, and he agreed with Saphira in the notion that one hearty breakfast wasn’t going to be enough to show the company that they meant no harm. It was obvious that generations of prejudice and hatred towards dragons were twisting their views on the two of them, and to have Eragon communicate and ride Saphira, he was surprised they hadn’t labelled him a dark lord and killed him yet. 

But it felt as if a few were more wary than hateful. The Hobbits had often glanced back at Eragon during their day of riding, countenances curious and lips pursed as if holding back questions and desperately needing answers. He didn’t dare encroach on their minds though, knowing it would do more harm than good, so he left them to come to him when they were ready.

He had to pause to check that his bow was stringed properly, and the sudden snap of a branch behind him drew his attention. He couldn’t see anything, and after a few moments Eragon continued, an arrow held loosely in his grip. 

He finally came upon an opening between the trees, the babbling of a brook loud amongst the tranquil scenery. Eragon perched himself by a shrub, dark clothing blending him into the growth. He could spy the tracks weaving their way through the mud, and he settled himself to wait for the deer to make an appearance. He hoped he didn’t have long to wait, worried the company would awaken and possibly leave without him. Although, they would have to deal with a very pissed Saphira. 

It wasn’t as cold as it would’ve been if Eragon had been in the Spine, but he had to will his feet to be still, the temptation to stomp and bring the blood flow back down to them very high. But he knew that any loud sounds or sudden movements could drive the animal off. So Eragon held firm and quiet, controlling his breathing. 

He didn’t have to wait for very long, and the majestic creature that stepped out from between the trees was a sight to behold. The Elk’s antlers brushed against the branches overhead, sending leaves fluttering to the ground. As the animal stepped closer to the river to drink, Eragon drew the arrow back on the bowstring, anchoring his fingers to his mouth and holding his breath. 

He held his position, following the Elk with his arrow, until something stopped him. Two calves stepped into the sunlight, trotting over to join the Elk at the river, rubbing their heads against its flank almost lovingly. The sight blew the breath out from Eragon’s lungs and the arrowhead dipped, the bowstring slackening as he stared. 

A lump lodged in his throat, his eyes watering and Eragon suddenly felt longing for Roran and Garrow, the Elk a stark reminder of his family. He watched quietly as the small family drank their fill and left, not noticing his tears until he tasted salt on his lips, and wiped his cheeks. He missed them, the ache from Garrow’s death old yet still present, and the throbbing gap in his heart of the brother Eragon left behind almost palpable. 

He let the Elk go, glancing to see the height of the sun in the sky and turning back towards the cave. He wouldn’t return empty handed however, snagging a few rabbits and squirrels for food on the way back. 

“Those Elk would have lasted us a few days at least, but you let them go,” came a sudden voice, and Eragon pulled the arrow from his quiver once again, the bow string taut as he aimed it in the general direction of the voice. “Why?” the voice asked, and Legolas stepped out gracefully from behind one of the trees. He regarded Eragon with confusion, delicate brows furrowed as he took in the rabbits and squirrels he clutched in his fist. 

Eragon considered his words for a moment, rolling them around his mouth in consideration. “It felt unnecessary to kill one when in reality, I would be killing three,” he said simply, heavily. “If that small family get to stay together and live for a few more years because of me? Well I am happy to go hungry for a few days.” 

“But did you lose the promise of a good meal for sentimentality?” Legolas asked, voice heavy with an unasked question, and Eragon snapped his head towards the elf, eyes wide in incredulity. 

“Do you think life as something so small?” he asked. “That the animals and plants surrounding us live just for us to kill and eat them? They are as individual as you or I and they shouldn’t be mindlessly killed if our need isn’t genuine.” Eragon explained calmly, the underlying pain in his chest almost swallowing the words from his throat. He suddenly realised how tired he was of explaining this to people, always wondering when they would finally understand. 

He had seen too much death, had connected with so many lifeforms that the thought of such unneeded waste at his hands caused nausea to bloom in his stomach. Those he did kill had been injured or old. He’d made sure before he put an arrow between their eyes, calming their minds first. 

“Your words remind me of someone I knew,” Legolas broached, and Eragon turned his curious gaze towards the elf. “He too was wise beyond his years, and considered all life sacred no matter how many orcs he had to kill during his last few years in this land.” 

“What happened to him?” Eragon asked, curious as to why the Elf was opening up to him now. 

“He sailed for the Undying Lands,” Legolas replied after a few seconds, and Eragon decided not to push when he caught sight of a flicker of sadness in those green eyes, knowing how the Elf felt all too well. 

“What do you wish to achieve here, Dragon Rider?” the elf asked, and Eragon startled at the question. No one but Galadriel had wondered such a thing blatantly, the elves of Lothlorien happy to leave the Rider and Saphira to their own devices, although Eragon could always feel an underlying sense of curiosity from them as to their purpose there. 

When they’d first arrived, Eragon didn’t exactly know himself. He only had the idea of what he was  _ meant  _ to do; form new Dragon Riders and lead them. He had no personal goal until a few months after their arrival, when Saphira showed him her egg. Then it changed, and he found himself with a new purpose, something to drive himself forward. 

“I wish to amend the prejudice and hate towards dragons in this land,” Eragon replied finally, knowing that to do that he’d have to change how the dragons acted, how their thought process immediately went to violence. He knew it was a massive task, but one he would take on gladly. “Although, I am bound by my role to create a new order of Dragon Riders. That is my duty.” 

“A noble task. One that seems impossible,” Legolas commented. “It will take much to erase the views and opinions the people of this land have over dragons. They’re considered evil beasts whose only care is for themselves and any gold they can lay their claws on. History has made sure of that.” 

“And what about you?” Eragon questioned. “What do you think about the fire-drakes?” 

The elf considered that question for a while, his stride slowing slightly as he thought. “I believe there is more to experience than stories and words on pages. I’m interested in learning about them, I’d like to see the truth with my own eyes,” he said, turning a stern look to Eragon. 

A shiver shot up his spine suddenly, and the Rider’s gaze skittered away as their pace picked up once again. “It seems you are the only one within the company who thinks that way. But I have prepared for the fact that my ambition will take a while to come to fruition. I am attempting to rewrite decades of history, afterall.” 

“I admire your determination, but yes, it might take a little while to get through to some,” Legolas said. “But, if you’re as stubborn as you seem, I’m sure you will be successful.” 

“I’m so pleased,” Eragon replied with sarcasm. 

He reached out to Saphira the closer they got to the cave, his companion immediately noticing the undercurrent of sadness and inquiring about it. Showing her what had happened with the Elk was hard, and she sent a wave of comfort to him, wrapping it around his mind like a warm blanket. He thanked her, shoulders easing from a tense position he never realised they were in. 

The dwarf spat at Eragon’s hunt when they entered the cave. “These are mere scraps, it would be better for us to survive on lembass for the day, or have a more  _ competent  _ hunter go out instead,” he said harshly. The rest of the company flinched at the harsh tone, the tension within the cave doubling. 

Saphira growled, lips pulling back to expose her sharp teeth at the dwarf, who grabbed for the handle of his mace threateningly.  _ He’s lucky if he gets to survive at all,  _ she said, claws clicking against the stone of the cave as she stood from her relaxed posture. Eragon gave the dwarf a hard stare as he patted Saphira’s flank comfortingly. 

“You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to,” Eragon told the dwarf placatingly, taking a seat by the small fire pit and pulling out his hunting knife. “But I will prepare some of these...scraps. There are plenty more outside for me to catch.” He could feel his anger bubbling underneath his skin, but he caught Legolas’ warning look and tried to get a hold of himself. 

“Keep your meagre hunt,” the dwarf snarled, tugging his pack towards him. Eragon watched as he brought out pieces of jerky and lembass, settling himself at the entrance to the cave and resolutely turning his back to the group. 

A silence fell over the cave as Eragon skinned two of the squirrels, the heat from the fire almost stifling. He paused for a moment to watch the hobbits pass out provisions amongst themselves, surprised at how much food they’d managed to fit in their packs. Although from what he’d read, Eragon knew hobbits had about seven meals a day. He wouldn’t be surprised if most of the room in their bags were taken up by food.

He could feel the wariness and tension in the cave on his shoulders, manifesting as a great weight that curved his back. He knew this feeling all too well and the back of his head burned with the amount of gazes locked onto it. He ignored them, letting himself sink into his own thoughts for a few minutes. 

“You must be very experienced in hunting,” someone piped up, and Eragon’s gaze cut to the man with the white tree on his cape. The man gestured to the squirrel in Eragon’s hand. “I’ve never seen a shot so clean.” 

“When I was a boy, it was the only way for us to get food. We had to learn or starve,” Eragon replied bluntly, and the man’s eyes widened in surprise. He made his way over, picking up a rabbit that lay by the Rider and proceeding to skin it. Eragon was stunned by the other’s forwardness, how he ignored some of the incredulous stares locked onto his back. 

“I was much the same,” the man broached, and Eragon paused his knife, turning a confused gaze towards the man. 

“Why? You’re a soldier of Minas Tirith. Surely they have enough food for all of their citizens?” he asked, eyes alighting on the white tree once again. From what he had been able to see all those years ago when he’d first arrived, the white city looked majestic and grand, not unlike the cities Eragon had seen across Alagaesia, his mind cast back to Dras Leona and Tronjheim. Although it had been laid waste by the war surrounding it so he supposed the rebuilding must have taken much of the kingdom's wealth.

“I lived in a small town close to Gondor as a boy. I only moved to Minas Tirith when the opportunity arose a few years ago,” the man explained. “We too had to hunt for provisions. My brother and I would go hunting every fortnight.” 

“Doesn’t mean he was good at it,” the other man chipped in, green cloak placed beside him. “Trust me, Rider, you do not want this one on a hunt with you.” 

A bone was aimed at his head, and the man ducked it with a laugh. For some reason, a sense of unease curled in Eragon’s stomach at the title. He hadn’t ever been called ‘Rider’. Sure, Argetlam, Firesword and Shadeslayer had been his names for most of his travels, but those had been titles, something he was used to. It had never been Rider. That was what he was, not  _ who  _ he was. 

“Eragon,” he said and the men quietened, cutting their gazes to him as he shifted where he sat, suddenly feeling nervous. “My name is Eragon. Not Rider, that is my role, my duty. Not my title.” He could feel Saphira’s support through their bond, and leant on it as his dark eyes lifted to meet their gazes. He found no ill intent, only understanding. 

“Well then, Eragon, I am called Aiden of Minas Tirith. Son of Arden,” said Aiden, raising a fist to his chest. 

“And I am Gram of Rohan. Son of Gorm,” the other said with a kind smile, and Eragon nodded his head. 

“Are we introducing ourselves finally?” one of the hobbits piped up, and the men chuckled at the eagerness in his tone. 

Eragon’s mood lifted as the morning progressed, the wariness and caution that had blanketed the company lessened and the sense of acceptance alighted their hideout. The silence broke, and he found himself talking more than he had in the hour it took them to pack up than he’d said in the past few days. 

They moved on, Saphira gliding over their heads in the clouds. He suddenly found himself with a plethora of conversations with either the two men, or the hobbits; Pippin, Merry and Sam. It seemed the dwarf didn’t trust him still and forwent introducing himself, only settling a harsh glare on Eragon as they left. 

Legolas didn’t deign Eragon with further conversation either, although he didn’t speak to any in their company as they continued, a dark look falling over his countenance. When he asked, Merry explained that Gimli had been Legolas’ best friend, the two of them clashing when the Fellowship was formed, and suddenly Eragon understood. He knew the pain of losing a best friend, a brother. The images of Murtagh being dragged into the tunnels on Tronjheim would be forever ingrained in his head. But he didn’t dare approach the Elf on the matter, knowing he needed time. 

They found themselves riding across green plains in the early afternoon, a wide river to Eragon’s right and the sun hanging high in the sky. It reminded him of his journey to Ellesmera, the calm speed they’d adopted as they’d drifted on the raft towards Du Weldenvarden. It had been an interesting experience, having never met any elves other than Aria and then suddenly being surrounded by more of them as he was traded off from the dwarves’ care to theirs. Completely calm, not having to look over his shoulder for danger.

However at times Eragon found it strange, being so used to traversing long distances at great speeds, only slowing when his body screamed at him to rest, and even then he didn’t stop for long. So to go at such a slow pace, he found himself restless in Nahar’s saddle, wishing for the clouds and the wind and the calming beat of Saphira’s wings. 

But it seemed that the hobbits’ chatter was enough to distract him. Eragon found he enjoyed their company. The two youngest; Merry and Pippin, did well to keep the company’s spirits lifted with tales of their own adventures. They ranged from stealing vegetables from the fields around their home - usually escalating into a wild chase - to the battles they’d experienced during the War of the Ring, which were Eragon’s favorites much to their delight. He’d read about the War of the Ring, but to hear about it from people who experienced it first hand had his mind racing with questions. 

“You met an Ent?” Eragon asked in wonder, staring at the two awe. “That must’ve been an amazing thing to witness.” He himself had wandered Fangorn forest once, stretching out his awareness on the off chance he’d meet one of the tree herders, but hadn’t much luck. 

“Oh aye,” Pippin commented, “but it didn’t help that we had orcs snapping at our ankles.” And if Eragon concentrated, he could see the flicker of fear in the Hobbit’s gaze, but didn’t pry into it, knowing it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Merry regaled the group with how he rode with Queen Eowyn during the Battle of Minas Tirith, how she defeated the Witch King of Angmar with his aid. Eragon found it amazing how brave hobbits were, and listened intently to Merry’s tale of Eowyn defeating the Witch King, his mind creating an image of the woman facing off against a towering shadow. 

Sam was completely different to the other two, quietly determined as he urged his pony forward. He didn’t say a word when the conversation turned to the battle at the Black Gate, but Eragon noticed his tense shoulders and furrowed brow. He didn’t feel it would be right to ask, knowing there must’ve been a lot of trauma and pain from that experience. 

They stopped for lunch a few hours later and Eragon was grateful to stretch his legs. He called Saphira down, tracking her descent from the clouds with keen dark eyes. She landed gracefully so as not to spook the horses and preened when Eragon scratched the scales beneath her chin. The trees around them hid them from sight, and something within Eragon relaxed with Saphira close at hand. 

_ How are you?  _ he asked, gaze running over her form for signs of fatigue. She snorted at his concern but ruffled her wings anyway when his hands brushed over the tense muscles there. 

_ I’m not made of glass, little one,  _ she said.  _ I can handle a few hours of flying.  _

_ Doesn’t mean I have to like it,  _ he replied.

_ I know,  _ she said, her feelings of comfort a balm on Eragon’s agitated thoughts.  _ But if it is what we are asked, then we must adhere to Lord Celeborn’s wishes.  _

The two of them sat with the company, Saphira curling around Eragon almost protectively as he ate. Conversation was light, the group discussing their route to Rohan. The dwarf sat on the other side of their impromptu circle, keeping a wary eye on the two of them. Eragon didn’t mind, nodding his head towards him as if to convey his understanding to his actions. 

He and Saphira suddenly found themselves with company as the hobbits took their seats beside him, although Merry inched away from Saphira’s claws when he sat too close. Eragon stared at them for a few seconds, surprised at the sudden turn of events. 

“Should you not be discussing where we’re going?” he asked them, furrowing his brow in confusion. He glanced over to where Legolas, Gram, Aiden and the dwarf were circled around the map, noticing that the four of them didn’t miss the hobbits’ disappearance.

“We have no real notion of where we are,” Merry told Eragon flippantly as if that wasn’t worrying, “as most of what Pippin and I have seen of Rohan was on the back of an orc. So we wouldn’t be of much help.” 

“But, put us on one side of the Brandywine river and we can find our way home blindfolded,” Pippin said with a laugh. A silence fell over their little group before the hobbit piped up again. “What about your home, Eragon?” 

A small smile pulled his lips upwards as he cast his mind back to Carvahall. “I guess I’m much the same as you. Put me on one side and I can find my way home easily. Although, I guess it would put me within the peaks of the Spine but I would surely find my way back anyway.” 

“Are they mountains?” Merry asked, and Eragon could see the intrigue in his bright eyes. Eragon suddenly felt hesitant about telling someone about his home, longing cutting deep into his chest. He pushed those thoughts away though, and turned to the Hobbit with a gentle smile, one filled with nostalgia. 

“Yes. My home, Carvahall, is within Palancar Valley. The Spine blocks it off from the sea on one side, and Du Welduvarden on the other boxes it in,” Eragon explained, grabbing a twig to crudely draw it out in the dirt. “The Spine is considered an evil place by the people in my town, no one comes back once you go in. However, if you know the right trails and respect the forest there are a good few hunts within the trees.” 

Eragon felt himself spurred by the hobbit’s interest as he outlined the coast of Alagaesia, detailing the Beor mountains and Helgrind and anything else he could remember. Saphira aided him as he began to explain his home. He found he had the full attention of his audience as he described Ellesmera, Surda and the dwarf kingdom of Tronjheim, which he described in detail as he knew he’d never forget the first time he set eyes on the place. 

He didn’t dare speak of Galbatorix, or the riders. He felt as if it would take half of their journey for the story to be told so, for now, he continued describing the capitals of each of the races, going into great detail of Ellesmera at their request. He glanced up at one point to find the others listening too, and he caught Legolas’ gaze, the elf seemingly enthralled by Eragon’s geography lesson as he described the great tree and the way the Elves lived. 

“Bah, there's no possible way a creation of that size could be structurally sound,” the dwarf grumbled as Eragon finished describing the Star Sapphire, his beard quivering as he spoke. “You’re lying.” Eragon couldn’t help but set a condescending stare on the dwarf, almost daring him to scoff at his tales. 

_ It’d be wise if he minded his tongue,  _ Saphira growled, blue gaze locked onto the dwarf with terrifying intensity. 

“I swear to you it’s the truth. Why would I lie?,” Eragon told him, knowing that the dwarf didn’t believe him by his expression. 

“Drar,” Gram told him quietly, tone warning him as the dwarf - Drar - stood from where he had sat. 

“So you expect me to believe your word? A man and his  _ dragon  _ when all the fire-drakes have done to my people is  _ kill  _ them,” Drar exclaimed, voice rising in sound but Eragon didn’t rise to meet him, merely sitting and watching, completely calm and neutral in countenance. “Stories are told about what Smaug did to my people, how he burnt them to ashes where they stood with no regard for their families, and holed up in the treasure room for years while my people grew poor and destitute.” 

Beside him Sapira had brought herself up to her four claws, lips pulled back in a snarl but the dwarf didn’t approach further, hand coming down to clutch the handle of his mace threateningly. 

“I will never believe your word,  _ Rider _ ,” Drar finished, spitting on the ground as an insult. Eragon didn’t flinch. The atmosphere suddenly tensed as the rest of the company turned their gaze to the Rider, watching as he stared at the dwarf almost blankly. 

“I don’t expect you to,” he said quietly. “Your history is long, and filled with strife against dragons. And now you are expected to travel with one. I knew it would take a while for you to believe me, let alone trust me. But, however long it takes, I will protect each and every one of you during this journey.” 

“You would do that?” Sam asked quietly, expression weighed down with a sadness Eragon hadn’t noticed before. “Even though we are strangers to you.” 

“It is my duty as a Rider to protect and keep the peace. I would be proud to protect this company,” Eragon told them, a fierce determination burning in his stomach. “Although, I very much doubt you’ll need it,” he said and the atmosphere lightened once again, tension fleeing as quickly as it had come. 

They continued at much the same pace, the miles eaten by their horses’ hooves as they hugged the back of the Anduin river. After much prodding from both Pippin and Merry, and with the whole company listening as they rode, Eragon regaled them with the beginning of the Dragon Riders. He wasn’t much for extravagant retellings and he mainly stuck to the facts, but he knew a bit about flair from listening to Brom’s dramatic stories and he found that he held their attention well. 

_ Eragon,  _ Saphira suddenly called through the bond, and the Rider glanced up to see she had dipped below the cloud cover. Her tone was urgent.  _ I see smoke about three miles northeast from your position.  _

_ Can you see what it is?  _ he asked, turning his head in the direction, straining his keen eyesight to see. He couldn’t, much to his annoyance, and he dug his heels into Nahar’s flank to urge her faster. 

_ A village, and the flames are spreading quickly,  _ she told him.  _ I can see Orcs attacking the villagers within. Some have escaped however. _

He relayed the news to the company and took the lead as Saphira guided him from the sky. He could see the concern in their expressions, and realised that the peace that had been held for the fifteen years since the end of the War of the Ring had fractured by this one happening. Eragon shivered at the notion of the consequences and the cause.

They saw the plume of smoke a few minutes out, the scent of burnt wood reaching his keen nose and making Eragon sneeze. It startled Gram who rode beside him, but the Rohirrim handed over a piece of cloth. Eragon gratefully took it with a nod. 

Saphira had been correct that it had been a village, the buildings burnt black from the fires which still crackled merrily as they ate through the wood. Some dead bodies littered the ground, puddles of blood branching out from them. They were indiscernible because of the fire, and the scent of burning flesh invaded Eragon’s nose. 

Other villagers wandered at the perimeter of what used to be their home, most of them in tears and stepping away easily to let the company through. Eragon felt a pang through his heart at their sorrow, knowing their pain all too well as they took in the burnt husk of buildings that used to stand proud against the elements. But he kept his gaze on the buildings around him as he and the company dismounted. 

The stench of wood fires and burning flesh was stronger the deeper they went into the village, and Eragon bowed his head in respect whenever he passed a body. Some looked to be no more than children, and he could feel the hot burn of hatred bubble in his stomach at the barbarity of the tragedy. 

Others were bodies of Orcs, their skin burnt black by fire, mouths open wide in silent screams of pain. Eragon took in the cadavers curiously, wondering how their own weapons would have killed them. 

Saphira stayed just within the cloud cover, and Eragon kept the connection open so that she may watch as he inspected the buildings that had been turned to rubble. 

The scorch marks that decorated the ground were the wrong shape to be made by explosives. The patterns were as if the fire had come from above the building, and Eragon glanced up into the grey sky looking to see if he could make sense of it. To him, it looked like the results of dragon fire. 

_ Saphira,  _ he said, opening their bond,  _ do these markings seem strange to you? It looks like they were made by...but that couldn’t be, could it? They wouldn’t attack a small human village? They have no reason to. _

_ Little one,  _ she replied, cutting him off from his train of thought, and Eragon grew concerned at her anxious tone. 

_ What is it?  _ he asked. 

_ I smell something,  _ she said, and Eragon couldn’t deny the hope he could feel in their bond. _ Dragons.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudoses! They make my day it's so nice to see people enjoying this. 
> 
> As you can probably tell, this is going to be the slowest of slow burns but at least we got some interaction between our two boys, which is always good! And I wonder how new dragons will add to the mix...hmm...
> 
> Anyway, I hope to see you all soon with the newest installment and please do leave a comment, let me know what you thought of this chapter! 
> 
> See you soon guys <3


	5. Chapter five

_ I thought the dragons in Middle Earth were all but wiped out! How is it possible that they’re here?  _ Eragon asked, brow furrowed in thought as he took in the destruction around him in a new light. The scorch marks that decorated the grass looked the right shape to be dragonfire, the angle just so that it seemed the flames had come from above. A surge of hope welled within Eragon, mingling with Saphira’s. If he was right–if what his eyes were telling him was true–then it was beyond anything they’d ever imagined.

_I don’t know little one,_ Saphira answered. _But it seems they were not the only ones responsible for this destruction._ And Eragon suddenly noticed that the scent of smoke and dragons was almost overwhelmed by an ungodly stench. It was a scent the two of them had encountered before when they’d arrived all those years ago. He wrinkled his nose and looked again at the footprints from the attack. 

He hadn’t realised it when they had first arrived, but there were some larger than the others, at least half a size bigger. Eragon crouched beside one such print, analysing it with his dark eyes as he placed his own boot next to it in comparison. He didn’t notice Legolas approaching until the elf crouched next to him, taking in the footprint himself. 

“Orcs,” the Elf said quietly, reaching down to prod at the mud surrounding the footprint. “These tracks are fresh. Likely an hour old.” Eragon’s brow furrowed in distaste. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter them; he’d thought most had been killed at the end of Sauron’s reign. 

“Does that mean we can still catch them?” Eragon asked, watching as the elf’s brow furrowed in thought. “Or do we even know where they have gone?” As the elf shifted beside him, Eragon noticed how close Legolas was to him. The Rider restrained himself from inching away from the elf, a slight heat crawling up his neck as he noticed the fine edge of his jaw. Eragon cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze before the elf could notice. 

“If we follow their tracks, we’d be able to determine which stronghold they hail from. Although we don’t have the time or the resources to follow them,” Legolas replied, gracefully standing to his full height. 

Eragon knew it wasn’t wise to keep what he and Saphira had discovered a secret, but they didn’t know if this was an isolated case or if there’d be other villages with signs of a dragon attack. He didn’t want to cause alarm needlessly, not until they could find out more. So he kept quiet, ignoring how his stomach turned at the thought of lying to the elf. 

Eragon followed the footprints’ path as it rounded the burnt buildings and bodies, wincing when he came upon another one. He just couldn’t make sense of what happened, his brow furrowing as he continued, gaze fixed firmly on the footprints. 

Finally, he came to the northern entrance of the village, where the tracks suddenly turned back on themselves. He huffed in frustration, turning on the spot to look for where the Orcs could’ve turned back into the village again, but couldn’t find anything. Shaking his head in defeat he turned towards a particularly large scorch mark that had caught his eye. He crouched next to it to trace his fingers over the burnt grass. It was incredibly fresh, barely an hour old which means they couldn’t have gotten very far. 

_ Saphira, is the dragon scent still discernible? We can use it to figure out where they’re coming from,  _ he asked, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he could find them with his gaze alone. 

_ No, the wind has diluted it too much. I can’t make out the direction or their flight path,  _ she said with remorse, and Eragon sent a flash of comfort, knowing it had been a long shot to ask. 

He pondered on using his magic to discern where the dragon may have gone, but realised there would be too many witnesses with the villagers so close by, the survivors huddled together as they mourned and knew the flash of blue light that came from his mark would be noticeable. And that it would be suspicious to the company if he suddenly knew where the Orcs were headed with only examining the tracks at least once. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over his mark, feeling the warmth of his magic seep into his skin as he slipped into his own thoughts.

“They have fled to where they came from,” Legolas suddenly commented, and Eragon’s gaze snapped to where the elf was pointing in the direction the tracks had turned on themselves, where Eragon had been stumped. 

Eragon frowned at the tension that overtook the group as they joined them, confusion flickering through his bond with Saphira as she too didn’t know what the elf meant. Each of the company seemed on edge, their gaze pinned to something in the far distance. 

“Gundabad,” Aiden whispered, clutching the hilt of his sword in fear. The name itself sent a shiver down Eragon’s spine, and the Rider could feel his shoulders tense. 

“Aye,” Drar growled, beard quivering as his gaze glared at the horizon. “Those damn beasts couldn’t stay dead for long.” A deadly silence fell over the group. Eragon chanced a glance at each of them, and shuddered minutely at their haunted gazes. This was suddenly turning into something bigger than both he and Saphira, something that stretched years into the past. 

“We must continue to Rohan,” Legolas suddenly told them, stirring the group into action and breaking the silence. “We can do no more about the Orcs today. The sun will be setting soon and we must find shelter.” 

He spoke with such authority that no one countered him, continuing on until the moon rose and they settled in a copse of trees, huddled around the fire. 

Saphira joined them once again, stretching her wings tiredly as she curled up behind her Rider. The company seemed more at ease with her presence, though Drar kept a wary eye on her form until he lay down on his bedroll. 

The atmosphere around the fire was tense, the company quiet. Eragon didn’t dare mention what he and Saphira had discovered, the revelation weighing heavy on his shoulders and his mind. They didn’t know enough of what had happened to draw conclusions anyway; the dragons could’ve been there coincidentally. Though, he thought darkly, he’d learned long ago that nothing ever happened without reason.

“You look concerned, Eragon,” Pippin said, breaking the silence abruptly. The Rider glanced up to find the Hobbit’s gaze on him, one hand cupping his chin as he leant his elbow on his knee. Eragon spied the apple he held in his hands, and he swallowed dryly, forcing the slight nausea back down his throat. He hadn’t been able to eat even a corner of the lembas bread Haldir had packed for him after the scent of burnt flesh had wiggled into his nostrils. He found it brought back memories, some of which Eragon didn’t wish to remember. 

“I’m alright Pippin, thank you,” he said with a small smile. It didn’t seem to assure the Hobbit and he stood from his place beside Merry, traipsing over to sit by Eragon. He glanced at Saphira and warily nodded, angling himself so that his back was to the fire but his front faced the Rider. 

“You’ve told us about your homeland, and we’ve regaled you about ours. So I suggest another trade of tales,” he said, giving him a grin. 

“Bah, no one wants to hear more of the One Ring,” Drar suddenly growled, startling the Hobbits. “It has been years since the defeat of Sauron and we don’t need any reminders of the dark time that came before it.” Eragon’s keen eyes noticed how both Aiden and Legolas winced at the Dwarf’s outburst, and how Pippin and Merry’s shoulders sank in shame. 

However the youngest perked up, his expression wrought with determination. “Alright then. How about  _ you  _ tell us a story? I’m sure you have loads to tell about the Glittering Caves? Or the many battles you’ve fought?” he asked. 

Drar humphed, cheeks turning ruddy as he stood. Eragon noticed his dark gaze flickered towards him almost warily, as if the Rider would suddenly refuse him to speak. But when he didn’t move a muscle the Dwarf spoke. 

If there was one thing that was universal in dwarves, it was their ability to conjure images of great beauty with their words. Eragon found himself entranced as Drar told of how he was part of a great battle against the Orcs, a wide smile stretching his lips as he listened attentively. 

The Dwarf was very detailed in his telling, and Eragon watched as he finally came out of his shell, hands gesturing wildly as he told of the many he cut down with his maces. Of how he led a charge against a troll, felling the beast as it attempted to bring down the gates of Erebor. 

“It was a mighty creature. Easily half the size of a dragon, and its club was the length of a tree,” he described eagerly. “It took myself and two others to bring it down and the sound of it crashing to the ground echoed across the valley.” 

Eragon asked questions occasionally, curious of how the Orcs had managed to reach the Lonely Mountain in the first place. Drar had been reluctant to reply at first, his gaze harsh, but as the night lengthened, the Dwarf didn’t seem to mind so much. In fact, he seemed to grow more animated in his tale as more questions were asked. 

Eragon found his mind filled with images of great battle, and so found it difficult to sleep. He sat against Saphira’s flank, rising and falling with each of her breaths as he watched over the company. Drar’s snores echoed from where he lay in his bedroll, but there was no other sound. His lips twitched, pleased. For the first time in their short acquaintance, Drar was sleeping with his back to them. But though it eased his mind to be granted this small concession after weeks of hostility, he found himself too restless to sleep. His gaze wandered, looking for a distraction.

Sam had first watch, the Hobbit sitting on one of the many logs the company had arranged in a circle, facing out to the forest. Eragon noticed the slump of his shoulders with some concern. 

“You were very quiet this evening,” Eragon began once he’d made his way over, and he could see he’d startled the Hobbit slightly. He hadn’t been able to speak with the Hobbit that much since their departure from Lothlorien, and at times during their journey he couldn’t help but compare Sam to Roran at times, their thoughtful demeanors very alike. 

“Beggin’ your pardon, Lord Eragon,” Sam said, bowing his head in respect. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, is all.” 

Eragon could feel his cheeks growing hot in embarrassment, and he smiled kindly at the Hobbit. “Please, I’m no Lord. Eragon is fine,” he said, and he realised that it was not Roran, but himself Sam reminded him of, when he was younger and awkward in the ways of titles and politics. 

“I’m sorry about your daughter,” he began quietly, watching as Sam’s hands clenched where they lay on his thighs. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, or what you’re going through.” And he really couldn’t, not knowing what it was like to lose a child. But he could understand the pain of losing someone dear to him.

“She’s only a fauntling. I don’t know what she’d have to do with any of this...this nonsense,” Sam said, his anger palpable in the quivering of his fists. “She should be at  _ home  _ with her mother and sister, not lost or captured by some dark evil,” he continued, and Eragon didn’t know what to say to that, gazing solemnly into the trees, a quiet companion as the Hobbit sniffled beside him. 

“Tell me about her,” he suggested, smiling kindly as the Hobbit jerked his head up in surprise. “What is she like?” he asked, taking care not to mention the child in past tense. 

“She is incredibly kind, and mischievous. Although that is probably aided by the fact that one of her uncles is a Took,” Sam began, gaze subtly cutting to Pippin where he lay on his bedroll. “She often spends whole days in the Old Forest, or in the fields surrounding Hobbiton. And it’s difficult to get her inside for dinner or any meal in fact.” 

Eragon laughed at that as Sam told him of how his daughter had managed to sneak all the cheese from the pantry to feed a family of mice that lived in the garden, and how she would come home from her adventures covered in mud and sticks from crawling on the ground.

As the Hobbit spoke, Eragon could see the sadness ebb a little, his eyes growing bright with mirth at the memories of his daughter. The Rider felt proud that he had been able to drag Sam from his misery, but he knew it wouldn’t last, at least not until his daughter was returned to him. 

“What’s her name?” Eragon asked as they watched the sun rise above the horizon. 

“Donna, named after Bilbo Baggins’ mother, Belladonna,” Sam replied, tone wistful and sad. 

“It’s a beautiful name,” Eragon said sincerely as they listened to the rustling of bedrolls behind them.

Their journey to Rohan took three more days. They didn’t encounter any other delays along the way and Eragon found it calming to watch the land around them pass by. He also found himself engaged in conversation for most of the day, sometimes by the men, others by the hobbits, and once by Radagast.

Neither Drar nor Legolas talked to him, although the Dwarf was slightly less wary of Eragon, and Legolas looked to have things weighing on his conscience and didn’t talk at all for the last leg of their journey. 

Eragon often found his gaze straying towards him, wondering what Legolas was feeling, and when the two of them came up to ride side by side the Rider found himself engaging him in conversation to distract him. Legolas was more than happy to oblige, and Eragon felt a heat bloom in his stomach at the sight of the sadness leaving Legolas’ gaze. 

They finally got a first sighting of Edoras in the afternoon of the third day, the city atop a large hill rising above the flat plains that surrounded them. The company halted their horses for a few minutes, allowing the relief of the sight of someplace safe sink in. 

The city itself was composed of large wooden buildings scattered before a great building, the slope of the hill leading up to the stone steps of the castle. From where they sat upon the horses, the company could make out the silhouettes of the citizens within the wooden walls.

“It’s amazing,” Eragon murmured to himself, and he spotted Gram beside him, posture straight and tall and Eragon could spy the pride clearly on his expression. 

“And you won’t find anything like it here,” Gram replied, and Aiden scoffed behind him, but Eragon could see the awe that coloured his eyes. 

As they rode, Eragon’s gaze caught on more details of the city, noticing the wall that surrounded it, the grand building at the top of the high rise dwarfing the houses at the bottom. His keen hearing caught the sounds of life within them, and he could feel his lips spreading in a wide smile.

The gate was opened easily to let them in, and they followed Gram who took the lead, riding the horses until they came to the stairs that lead to the grand house. Eragon could feel Saphira hovering above the cloud cover and kept his end of their bond open so she could see what was happening. 

A woman stood before the doors of the castle, her green dress and white cape fluttering behind her eye catching. Her blonde hair glistened in the sunlight and the wind, gaze stern as she took in each member of the company. 

Gram knelt before her, head bowed and Eragon followed the others as they did the same. “Your Majesty,” the Rohirrim began, voice respectful. “It is good to see you are well.” 

“Ser Gram, I hope your journey was uneventful?” Queen Eowyn asked, her hands delicately folded before her. Her voice was melodious, but Eragon could hear the commanding lilt underneath.

“Almost, Your Majesty. We encountered a village, one burned to the ground by Orcs. If it pleases you, we’d like to send aid to the citizens,” Gram replied, and Eragon winced internally as his findings weighed heavy on his tongue. 

“Send for them. They can live within Edoras until their homes are rebuilt,” she said, gesturing to a guard who stood behind her. “I am glad you were able to reach Edoras on such short notice. Come, we have much to discuss,” she said, smiling at the company kindly before leading them inside. Eragon was grateful to get out of the wind, carding his fingers through his windswept hair. 

The throne room was simple, the throne within elevated by a few steps and flanked by large banners of Rohan. Servants and maids darted in and out of the hall, harried by their work. Guards stood at each end, plumed helmets tucked under their arms.

A table ladened with food stood off to the side, steam rising from the heavy plates that almost curved the wooden table. Eragon chuckled internally as he watched Pippin’s gaze brighten. The Rider could feel his own stomach rumbling, and he discreetly placed his hands in front of it, a blush inching its way up his neck. He felt eyes on the back of his head, and when he turned he spotted Legolas’s gaze darting away. The Rider furrowed his brows at the Elf but dismissed it as his imagination. 

“I see there are additions to your company,” Queen Eowyn began, nodding to Aiden, Eragon and Drar respectfully. “It is good to meet you, Sirs. May your weapons be sharp, and your shields strong.”

Eragon bowed to her again, following the example of the other two. 

“We must discuss the reason for your journey here,” she said, taking a seat on the throne, and Eragon spied a twitch of her hand as she gently laid it on the arm of the chair. He took a closer look at her and realised that she was uncomfortable on the throne, as if she felt she didn't belong there. But he could see the determination within her gaze.

“My brother disappeared a few months ago. He took his steed and hasn’t returned since. In his absence I have taken his duties as King until such a time as he returns,” she explained, expression stern. “It has also come to light that this is not an isolated occurrence.” 

She turned her gaze to each of them, her eyes grave. “It has not just been leaders who leave, but citizens as well. Some do return weeks later, although with no recollection of what happened to them. My brother and Ellana, King Aragorn’s daughter have been the ones to not return so far.” 

“Gimli has become one of them as well. As has Sam’s daughter, Belladonna,” Legolas told her, his voice weighed down with grief Eragon didn’t expect from the Elf. A flash of sadness passed over Eowyn’s expression. “We were notified at the council meeting.”

Eragon felt something within him ache at the sight of grief in the Elf’s eyes, and he grimaced at the sensation. He didn’t dwell on it for long however, brushing it aside as the conversation continued. 

“That is sad news indeed,” Eowyn said, “I pray for his swift return. And indeed, the others as well. Lord Celeborn informed me that you would be in need of the library to look for information–” 

The doors to the throne room were suddenly thrown wide open, the wood clattering against the stone wall as a knight dashed inside. “My Queen, a village is being attacked by Orcs! They’ve set fire to the buildings and are driving the people from their homes!” he exclaimed into the stunned silence. 

The company leapt into action as Drar, Eragon, Gram and Legolas raced towards the entrance of the throne room. The Hobbits, Aiden and Radagast stayed behind to defend Edoras.

The four warriors rode hard and fast in the direction of the plume of smoke drifting darkly over the countryside. Glancing towards the sky, Eragon reassured himself with Saphira’s silhouette amongst the clouds. 

_ Saphira, what can you see?  _ Eragon asked, adrenaline thick in his veins as they passed through Edoras’s gates. The wind had picked up, and Eragon could feel his cloak flapping behind him as Nahar’s hooves drove into the ground. 

_ Orcs, about forty of them. They’re driving the people out of the village,  _ she said, puzzled.  _ Wait, Eragon!  _

_ What is it?  _ he asked urgently, driving Nahar faster. 

_ The dragon, it’s here. It’s attacking the Orcs but not the people. But the Orcs are the cause of the fires,  _ she told him.  _ I don’t think the dragon means the villagers any harm. _

_ How many dragons are there?  _ he asked again. 

_ Only one,  _ she replied.  _ Will you ride? _

_ Maybe _ _ ,  _ he said, stomach clenching in excitement.  _ Wait for my word, though, I don’t want to cause panic. _

_ It’s not as if it could get any worse. _

As they drew closer, Eragon watched as the company caught sight of the dark shape over the village, their eyes widening. The dragon wasn’t large, only as big as Saphira had been when she was two months old. Which meant it was still a hatchling, in dragon terms and shouldn’t be able to breath fire. Eragon tensed as Drar drew his mace, his expression determined underneath his beard. 

The dragon was a deep wine red, and true to Saphira’s word, was only attacking the Orcs. Although they weren’t doing a very good job of it, and Eragon watched as a tongue of flame went wide, hitting a house instead. It was obvious that the hatchling had only just learnt to breathe fire. 

There was something on its back, and when Eragon and his companions grew closer and dismounted from their steeds, Eragon was able to get a clearer view. His heart soared with elation and disbelief, and if he didn’t have his attention on fending off the Orcs that approached him he would’ve had a large grin splitting his face. 

_ Saphira,  _ he said to her in an awed voice, gaze taking in the form riding the back of the dragon.  _ It's a Rider!  _

Saphira suddenly roared in joy, the sound echoing through the land as she dove towards him, wings tucked into her sides. Eragon began to sprint alongside her, effortlessly jumping into the saddle as her claws skimmed the grass below.

He lost track of the others completely in his haste, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care, sights set on the dragon hovering over the village, heart lighter than he thought it could ever feel again. He couldn’t believe his eyes as they drew closer and closer to the other Rider, elated. He never thought he’d encounter another Rider, fearing he’d be the last of what had already been a dying race in Alagaesia. But as they drew nearer, he could feel his hope returning to him.

They came level with the other dragon and Rider quickly, Saphira angling her body so that Eragon would be seen. The other dragon suddenly halted its fire, turning its yellow eyes to Saphira with a growl. It wasn’t threatening however, and Eragon could see the fear flashing in its gaze as Saphira rumbled quietly, her mind prodding at the shields surrounding the others. 

“Greetings. I did not expect to see another Rider in Middle Earth,” Eragon began, using a small bit of his magic to propel his voice over the roaring wind and crackling fire. The Rider wore a mask white in colouring, decorated with a black handprint, their hair flowing free in the wind as they looked at him but didn’t deign Eragon with an answer. They were a she, it seemed, and appeared to be...a child?

“Are you alone? Who leads you, do you have a teacher? Where did you come from?” he asked, barely letting the other rider reply and spreading his awareness to prod against her. He watched as she flinched and her mind closed off to him, shields startlingly strong. He was shocked that someone in Middle Earth could protect their thoughts so well. As far as he knew, no one but him, Lady Galadriel and the Istari knew of that magic. And yet here was a Rider whose shields were almost as strong as his own. 

He could hear Saphira attempting to make contact with the other dragon again, but its shields were much the same, and both Eragon and Saphira felt baffled. “Are you alone?” he asked again, but got no answer. The Rider didn’t seem to have a weapon on her, and her dragon no armour. 

“If you’re alone, you could come with us. Please, join us for a while. We have been searching for others like us and I would have us meet as friends,” he said, relaxing his stance and attempting to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. 

However, the Rider shook her head slowly, and urged the dragon to turn with a press of her hand against its flank. Eragon and Saphira hesitated to pursue, unwilling to leave their companions behind, and watched them retreat with an acute sense of loss.

Eragon got a better view of the Rider as she turned into his line of sight. He spotted hairy, large feet, blonde curly hair and a short stature, and a wave of despair and surprise overwhelmed him. He could dimly feel the confusion from Saphira as he watched the two of them drift away on the wind until all they could see was their silhouette. 

_ Little one?  _ Saphira asked in concern as she flew them back towards the others, uncertain of why her Rider had gone so quiet all of a sudden. 

Eragon heaved a quiet breath, a weight settling on his shoulders.  _ I think we just found Sam’s daughter,  _ Eragon told her, breathing heavily at the revelation. The two of them watched the dragon and its rider disappear from their sight before turning back. 

_ It seems she has had some sort of spell cast over her,  _ Saphira commented.  _ Or perhaps it was her own magic?  _

_ So you noticed it too,  _ Eragon added, his mind drawing back to the shimmer of magic he’d seen surrounding the Rider’s head for a second whilst she had turned around.  _ It’s mind magic. There’s no way a Hobbit could have shields at that strength. And the only ones who know of that sorcery are us and the Istari.  _

_ Is it possible someone did it for her?  _ Saphira asked.  _ They could’ve errected the shields themselves once they’d taught her how to utilise them. She could have a very powerful teacher.  _

_ Perhaps, but we then have to wonder why she is a rider in the first place. From what Sam has told me about her she didn’t sound to have an affinity for magic,  _ Eragon replied.  _ I have a feeling we’re heading into unknown territory.  _

A sense of unease settled in his stomach, heavy as a stone pinning him to his saddle. Someone else knew how to use the Ancient Language with the proficiency of a sorcerer. Although he had never seen it used in that form the power and control it must’ve taken was impressive in and of itself. But it was also dangerous. To think there was someone in Middle Earth literally  _ brainwashing  _ people, or perhaps teaching them ways to protect themselves so strongly that they’d act not of their own accord.

“Someone is planning something,” Eragon murmured to himself as the ground drew closer and closer. The fires had been put out, and Eragon could just see the villagers crowded off to the left of their home. He could hear the faint sounds of screams and gently eased Saphira away so as to not cause any more panic by landing too close. 

Thudding footsteps and a roar of anger greeted Eragon as he dismounted from Saphira’s back. He held still as a mace was thrust threateningly below his chin. Drar barely reached Eragon’s chest in height, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. Glancing behind the snarling dwarf, Eragon could see that both Legolas and Gram had their weapons, but neither were aiming them at him. 

“You double crossing, son of a–” Drar snarled before Legolas interceded. Saphira growled at the dwarf lowly, shifting on her claws restlessly, but Eragon merely shook his head, knowing meeting anger with anger would do nothing for this situation. 

“I had no intention of betraying you,” Eragon said calmly, but the dwarf’s mace pressed against his throat harder, threatening. The Rider held as still has he could, palms facing up in surrender. 

“Then what  _ were  _ you doing?” Gram asked, and something in Eragon’s chest twinged at the look of distrust in his gaze. He really thought he was getting somewhere with the company, gaining their trust. But it seemed with that one single action he’d lost whatever progress he’d made. 

“Gathering information,” was Eragon’s simple answer, and Drar sneered at him, letting his mace droop slightly. The Rider could see the curious glint in Legolas’ gaze. “Information that would be instrumental to this journey.” 

He could practically feel the curiosity and tension as Drar let his mace finally drop. Eragon aimed his gaze at each of them, dark eyes determined. “I stand by the promise I made to you,” he said, gaze locking onto each of them, staring them down. Drar huffed in resignation, sheathing his mace. But Eragon could see the hint of relief in his gaze, and smiled as Gram clapped his hand on his shoulder. 

Legolas stared at him as they mounted their horses, gaze curious as they turned back towards the city. Eragon flashed him a quick smile before facing the road, too much on his mind to speak.

The ride back to Edoras was quiet. Saphira flew above them within cloud cover, disappointed that he wouldn't fly back with her. It was too risky, the thought of Saphira being discovered and possibly injured chilled Eragon to the bone. It seemed they were back to a tense silence again, and Eragon found himself missing the Hobbits’ mindless chatter as they drew closer to the city. 

The streets were empty as they rode through, the citizens fearful of an attack and hidden behind their closed shutters. The rest of the company waited for them at the top of the stone staircase, capes flapping in the harsh wind as they made their way towards them. Pippin and Merry looked pleased to see them, but both Aiden and Sam noticed their grave expressions. Radagast was nowhere to be seen. 

“What happened?” Pippin asked when they drew within earshot, concern evident in his tone. 

“Not here,” Gram told the Hobbit. “Inside.” 

***

The wind buffeted against the lone rider like a raging tide, the lift and dip of her dragon, Roe’s, wings calming. She felt him croon beneath her, and a soft caress of reassurance and fondness darted across their bond. He didn’t dare to speak aloud, knowing their position would be revealed with the booming of his voice. 

It was a crude thing, the connection between them, similar to the other riders. It was stunted and twisted, transferring only emotions and blurry images. And it was incredibly new. She often found herself startling whenever Roe brushed her mind without warning. However, the two of them were adjusting slowly but surely, their bond growing by the day.

As they grew closer to Carn Dum the clouds gathered over their heads, clustered together and cutting out the view of the blue sky. It was replaced by a dark grey but Donna didn’t feel sad about it. In a sense, she felt at home, like a blanket of darkness hovering just over her shoulder. 

It grew colder and colder the farther North they flew, until she could see her breath escape her mouth in white puffs of steam swept away by the harsh wind. The mountain range zipped below them until it fell away, the Misty Mountains left far behind as they entered the territory of Angmar. 

She could hear the loud screeches of the Fell beasts before she caught sight of Carn Dum. It felt as if something was clawing at her eardrums, but she didn’t lift her hands to cover her ears. She’d been taught over the past few months that pain was necessary to grow stronger and so she directed Roe towards the great gates that heralded the large fortress, ignoring the beasts' cries as they flew under them. 

She wasn’t greeted by anyone as she entered, but that was to be expected; the Masters took no servants as they had no need and the other Riders saw fit to provide themselves with their own food from the land. Granted, that meant taking a short flight towards the Misty Mountains or Mirkwood to hunt for anything substantial. 

What was unusual was the silence that seemed to echo through the halls, sending a shiver of dread up Donna’s spine. The Masters weren’t happy, and it wasn’t good when they were unhappy and she worked  _ so hard  _ so that they were happy and– 

A sudden clatter drew her from the spiralling of her thoughts as she turned her head, taking in the lean body that waited for her at the end of the corridor. She realised the sound had been the scabbard of the sword that hung on his belt knocking against the stone walls, and her shoulders relaxed. 

“You were gone for quite some time,” Eomer began once she drew closer and she pulled her mask from her face. “Was the mission a success?” 

“Yep!” she replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “But some other Rider interrupted my game and his friends chased the Orcs away before I could finish them off,” she told him with a pout, disappointment colouring her words. She didn’t miss the flash of intrigue flitting across Eomer’s gaze, but it was gone before she could ask about it. He patted her head kindly, and she beamed at him in delight.

“Come. The Masters will want to hear of your mission,” Eomer said, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her towards their chambers to wash up. 

Often during these times of calm and quiet, she wondered whether he had a sister where he came from. It was obvious he had a younger sibling from how he treated her, but she hadn’t dared ask him about it. None of them asked each other about their lives before Carn Dum.

She found it difficult to remember anything before the last six months, the memories blurry and muffled, as if they were underwater and she couldn’t reach them no matter how hard she tried. 

Fire flickered in the braziers that decorated the walls, casting long shadows against the stone of the fortress. Eomer led her towards the doors to the great hall which stood shut. Donna mentally cringed at the small part of her that wanted to turn away, run, hide, do  _ anything  _ other than get closer to them. She could feel her pulse quickening, shoulders pulling up to her ears her breath growing shallow–

She quickly shoved it away, knowing the Masters could sense it, if they felt so inclined to reach out to their disciples. Eomer glanced down at her and Donna grinned bright enough to rival the sun, masking her fear. He gave a small one in kind as Ellana stepped from a corridor to their right. 

She too, wore her riding gear, light leather armour strapped down tight and a mask tucked under her arm. Her dark hair fell down her back in waves, and Donna unconsciously ran her fingers through her own blonde curls. She had always been jealous of Ellana’s hair and loved it when she was allowed to braid it, placing sprigs of plants and withering flowers she found outside Carn Dum through the dark strands. 

“And where have you been?” Ellana asked, crouching to meet the Hobbit’s eye level. Gently taking her hands, Donna watched as the half elf’s long fingers traced over the dirt and soot that splattered her pale skin. Donna could feel her heartbeat calming, shoulders slumping from their tense position as Ellana rubbed her thumbs in circles over Donna’s knuckles. 

“The Masters sent me on a mission in Rohan,” Donna began. “Roe and I got rid of some nasties. And we met a new rider!” The image of the burning village flashed behind her eyelids and Donna grinned at the thought of the screams of dying Orcs and the sight of fear on their monstrous faces. 

She could see the pride in Ellana’s gaze as she pulled Donna to her chest for a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, and the Hobbit grinned in pure joy. She was surprised Ellana didn’t comment on the new rider, but pushed it aside for now as the older girl pulled her back to take her in. “I’m sure the Masters would like to hear of your success and the new arrival,” she said, glancing over Donna’s head at Eomer. The Man nodded slightly, grateful that the Hobbit was distracted as he pushed into the Great Hall easily. 

The Masters had told the riders that the great hall had been home to a great evil and power, one that had been feared across the land. Though the Masters never said who, as the identities, thoughts and ambitions of their hosts had disappeared as soon as they had taken over their bodies. Donna had only ever seen the door into the room, and the only sight she ever received of the Masters was glimpses from the corridor, their appearances kept secret from all but Eomer. 

A part of her would always be grateful for that, as she never knew whether she would be able to keep her composure before them. On the other hand, there was always the incessant curiosity that niggled at the back of her mind. It wondered at what the Masters discussed, what they looked like, how they sounded. And as the door fell shut heavily, she craned her neck for a glimpse. 

She could feel Ellana’s grip tightening around her waist as the Hobbit squirmed slightly, the other rider holding Donna like she was a fauntling, cradling her against her hip. They didn’t wander far from the door, but Ellana carried her over to an adjacent wall, sliding down to seat both of them on the ground. 

Donna had always admired the grace with which the half-elf exuded, sometimes attempting to imitate Ellana in the way she moved, held herself, and flew. The bond she felt with Ellana felt familiar, like a dream long forgotten. It made her sad in a way she couldn’t define, but she found that she didn't much care. 

She reached out slowly, small fingers brushing through Ellana’s dark fringe. Donna smiled brightly as her sister pulled the rest of her flowing locks from its braid, allowing it to fall down her shoulders. The Hobbit gently took the ebony strands, holding them with great care as she wove braids of different sizes and dexterity. 

“Why don’t  _ we  _ get to talk with the Masters?” she finally asked, breaking the silence that hovered over the two of them. She could feel Ellana tensing beneath her, and when she looked up her mouth was drawn into a thin line. “Why does it have to be just Eomer?” 

“There are many reasons why. Eomer was the first of us that the Masters chose, which means that they trust him to keep their secrets. I suppose his age does also come into consideration as he’s the oldest out of us,” she explained, but Donna could see the irritation that wrinkled Ellana’s nose and the space between her eyebrows. Donna thumbed at the wrinkles gently, giving her a bright smile. 

“So does that mean that when we’re older we’ll be able to join Eomer?” she asked, expression filled with an innocent joy that would surely melt butter. And she rejoiced at the smile that graced Ellana’s face. 

“I don’t see why that’s not a possibility,” she replied, but she knew that it wouldn’t happen. The Masters were too cautious to have themselves revealed to more people, even if their loyalty was unquestioning. But she couldn’t tell Donna that, knowing how her own heart would ache at the crestfallen look on the Hobbit’s face when she’d find out. 

The doors to the Great Hall opened once again, and Eomer stepped out. His expression was hard to read as he gestured to the two girls to follow him. He told them nothing of what the Masters had said to him, instead leading them towards the dungeons. Ellana could see beads of sweat decorating Eomer’s brow and she placed a warm palm against the small of his back as they traversed, knowing how the meetings with the Masters took a lot out of him. 

The dungeons of Carn Dum couldn’t really be described as dungeons so much as hovels dug out of the stone tunnels underneath the castle with metal bars to keep the prisoners within. It was cold down there, but the torches gave off enough heat to make it bearable. 

The tunnels twisted and turned, carving a confusing pathway that anyone could get lost in if they didn’t know the way out. Eomer told Donna once that the Witch King of Angmar often tossed prisoners into the tunnels and left them for dead, their screams echoing up into the throne room as entertainment to the King and his guests. There seemed to be something so enchanting to the Hobbit about having dinner to screams of agony. 

“Changed your mind yet?” Eomer asked what seemed like an empty cell as the three of them came to a halt in front of the bars. Donna could just make out the outline of their...guest. The burning yellow eyes of the hatchling dwelling beside him pierced through her very soul and she tightened her shields, wary of the little thing. 

“Aye, I have,” came the reply, and Donna grinned in delight, which slipped from her cheeks at his next words. “I might shove my axe up your arse instead of my shield.” 

Donna’s lips twisted to a snarl, body coiled to lunge forward, but Ellana’s grip on her shoulder calmed her. She watched as the woman stepped forward with all the grace of her heritage. 

“Now, there’s no need for such crass language, Mr Dwarf. If you cooperate with us and our Masters you can be out of here and aiding us,” she said, lips turned up in a kind smile. 

“I’d rather be back home. Which is where  _ you  _ should be, lass. All of you should,” the Dwarf replied, inching closer to the bars of his cell. Donna marveled at the fullness of his red beard but didn’t dare comment as Ellana continued to speak with him. 

“We are home, friend. Just as you are,” Ellana told the Dwarf. “And if you obey the Masters, we can be your family.” 

“I already have a family, as do you. I do not wish to work for these so-called ‘Masters’ of yours. They are no masters of mine,” he replied, and Donna watched as the tiny dragon puffed smoke from its nose in agreement, crawling up to perch on his broad shoulder.

Ellana sniffed at the tiny creature before stepping back once again. Donna quickly grabbed for Eomer’s hand, knowing the conversation was finished as the other rider turned to the Dwarf. 

“Very well then. Since you won’t cooperate, I’m afraid there’s no other option,” she said before turning back the way they came.

“Enjoy the rest of your solitary,” she called over her shoulder, “Lord Gimli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I beat Lynx to it! 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for the lovely comments and kudos so far, they really do make a world of difference and I love seeing what you guys think of this story! I had such fun writing this chapter, all the characters and the action eeep! We both spent a good half an hour brainstorming yesterday on both works and where we're going to take them next and let me tell ya...things are getting interesting :) 
> 
> Just to reiterate what Lynx said last time; we're both quite busy at the moment for multiple reason (work, college etc.) so please do be patient with us in regards to updates as we are writing as we go (which is something I've never done before being the meticulous planner that I am). 
> 
> If you haven’t already please do check out Lynx’s new new chapter on Home is Behind! 
> 
> I hope you're all happy and safe and well and I will see you all next time!  
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Okie, I can feel in my bones that this is going to turn into a crossover of epic proportions. I mean, we've got [spoilers] and [spoilers] galore! I am honestly so excited to be able to write something like this with such an amazing person! Everyone can thank Lynxrider for this monster of an idea. Although I guess we're both enablers for each other. 
> 
> This fic is linked to their crossover which is an Eragon and HTTYD and is honestly amazing guys, go check it out please. They are also the beta for this fic, as I am for, wait for it... Home is Behind! I know, I know can't get any nerdier than that. 
> 
> Anyway, this is the first time that I'm actually posting as I write, and as it's linked with Lynx's you could expect another in maybe another few weeks? Or even a month idk. But do keep an eye out! 
> 
> If you want to come shriek at me on tumblr I'm @mochalottie. See you soon guys!


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